END; 

LA5KA* 

by 

kLICE  PALMER 
ENDERSON 


EX  IJ|BRIS 

\3pE 

CH»EY 


GIFT  OF 
Mrs«    May  L*   Cheney 


The  Rainbow's  End: 

Alaska 


The    Rainbow's    End 

Alaska 


BY 

Alice  Palmer  Henderson 
\\ 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO   &  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCVIII 


OF.  .  ,.  ;  : 


Copyright,  1898,  '••"*' 
By  HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 


fur 


To 
Mr.  Portus  B.  Weare 

WHOSE  FAITH  AND  WORKS — FAITH  IN  OUR  GREAT   NORTH- 
WEST   POSSESSION,    WORKS    IN    OPENING    TO    THE    WORLD  ITS 

HITHERTO      DOUBLE-LOCKED      TREASURY HAVE       SPANNED 

BOTH  DISTANCE  AND  DIFFICULTIES  IN  THE  HOPE  THAT  HE 
MAY  FIND  SOME  NUGGETS  OF  WORTH  IN  THIS  POT  OF  GOLD 
FOUND  BY  ONE  SEEKER  AT 

The  Rainbow's  End, 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED  BY 

The  Author 
Chicago,  May  /,  1898. 


M49160 


Contents 

Chapter  Page 

I.  TOWARD  THE  NORTH  LAND      ....  i 

II.  DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA     ...  8 

III.  BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL     ...  27 

IV.  THE  LITTLE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS  46 
V.  THE  POTLATCH 66 

VI.  KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING     ...  80 

VII.  ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE       ....  95 

VIII.  HOLY  CROSS  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS  114 

IX.  ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS  .     .  130 

X.  NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL  .  144 

XI.  THE  TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS  160 

XII.  COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS  OF 

ALASKA 173 

XIII.  ALASKA  DOGS 185 

XIV.  REINDEER 195 

XV.  SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      .     .     .  211 

XVI.  RESOURCES  FOR  PERMANENT  SETTLEMENT 

IN  ALASKA 225 

XVII.  WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK?       .  237 

XVIII.  A  MINE  is  MINE! 251 

XIX.  FT.  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY  .  263 

XX.  BEYOND  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE    .     .     .     .  275 

XXI.  THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW,  AND  SUNDRY 

POTS  OF  GOLD 283 


The  Rainbow's  End:  Alaska 


CHAPTER   I 

TOWARD   THE    NORTH    LAND 

So  the  little  hand,  soft  and  white  as  a  crumpled  rose- 
leaf,  snuggled  into  the  larger  palm,  and  the  tiny  fingers, 
with  implicit  child  trust,  confided  themselves  to  the 
others'  leading,  were  it  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  And 
they  two  left  the  turmoil,  the  un-ease,  the  grime  of 
Chicago  behind  them,  shaking  the  dust  of  that  city 
from  their  happy  wandering  feet.  The  tired  brown 
eyes  and  the  merry  blue  ones  looked  gladly  into  one 
another.  The  pilgrims  laughed  softly  to  themselves 
when  the  wheels  began  to  turn  and  they  realized  they 
were  actually  started  for  the  end  of  the  rainbow. 

Hats  were  placed  upon  the  broad  shelf  over  the 
door,  wraps  hung  upon  numerous  brass  hooks.  The 
little  body  screwed  herself  into  a  corner  of  the  "make- 
believe  house"  and  gazed  out  upon  the  "slippery 
country,"  while  the  other  looked  musingly  about  the 
compartment.  Time  was,  and  not  so  long  ago,  when  a 
contortionist  was  the  only  person  who  could  come  out 
whole  from  a  night's  railway  travel.  People  having 
spines,  and  those  whose  joints  worked  but  one  way, 
suffered  through  the  long  night  watches  in  wretched- 
ness which  distinctly  lowered  their  moral  tone.  Yet 
here  was  a  dainty  apartment,  retired  as  one's  own 


2  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:<  ALASKA 

bedroom,  .and  ibjeq-utiful  as  a  queen's  boudoir,  finished 
in  pldn  mahogany,  every  broad  panel  selected  for  its 
individual  beauty  ai^d  inlaid;  velvet  carpet  upon  the 
floor,  rich  silken  brocade  upon  the  walls,  the  electric 
lights  of  the  chandelier  multiplying  themselves  in  the 
plate  pier  glass  which  covered  the  door,  lights  over 
one's  shoulder  for  reading,  shaded  so  as  to  throw  the 
light  upon  the  page  and  spare  the  eyes — if  you  were 
indeed  a  queen  your  private  car  would  be  no  more 
luxurious  than  this  same  Chicago  and  Northwestern 
road's  limited  train,  surely  the  finest  in  the  world. 
"It's  every  sort  of  a  room,  isn't  it?"  exclaimed  the 
small  traveler,  looking  at  the  beautiful  washstand  in  the 
corner  with  its  hot  and  cold  water,  shelves,  towel  racks, 
caraffe  of  drinking  water,  closet  for  shoes,  etc.  One 
can  put  everything  away  in  this  compact  little  draw- 
ing-room, sleeping  apartment,  bath,  boudoir,  all  in 
one.  Out  went  the  lights !  The  child  crept  between 
the  linen  sheets  in  her  make-believe  house,  lay  smil- 
ingly listening  to  the  incessant  grumbling  of  the  sleep- 
ing car  that  was  not  allowed  to  sleep  and  in  her  journey 
journeyed  into  Slumberland.  The  brown  eyes  could 
not  close  so  soon,  so  the  other  went  into  the  library  car 
for  a  book.  Here  again  how  would  our  fathers  have 
wondered  at  a  room  furnished  with  green  leather 
"sleepy  hollows,"  two  fully  equipped  desks  inviting 
one  to  wind  up  a  business  correspondence  or  to  drop  a 
love  letter  en  route,  files  of  illustrated  papers  tempting  an 
idle  hour,  and  books  peeking  out  from  the  plate  glass 
doors.  Here  gentlemen  were  smoking  and  reading  and 
talking  as  if  in  their  clubs  at  home,  while  the  train 
rushed  on  with  scarcely  a  vibration  over  the  perfect 
roadbed.  Yet  not  so  long  ago  one's  frame  was  all  but 
rent  asunder  as  the  train  jolted  and  jerked  and  thun- 
dered along.  Now  it  is  a  moving  hotel,  with  a  luxuri- 


TOWARD  THE  NORTH  LAND  3 

cms  dining-room — shades  of  basket  luncheons  of  the 
past !  Oh,  *  *  the  world  do  move ' ' ! 

They  wakened  early,  for  the  sun  seems  to  think  that 
the  minute  he  is  up  everybody  else  ought  to  be,  and 
fusses  about  the  room  until  there  is  no  use  trying  to 
sleep.  They  breakfasted  with  the  beautiful  Twin 
Cities,  who  are  enriched  by  their  father  Mississippi's 
extensive  business  and  heirs  to  the  gold  of  their  lovely 
mother  nte  Wheatland. 

And  it  was  the  second  day:  They  sped  across  the 
prairies,  the  level  threshing  floors  of  the  world's  gran- 
ary, swept  clean  of  wheat  now,  with  pools  of  water 
showing  that  Dame  Nature  had  barely  finished  her 
Spring  house-cleaning.  Flowers  peered  out  every- 
where as  they  passed;  the  year  was  too  young  for 
hard  work. 

The  third  day  they  passed  through  Bismarck,  North 
Dakota,  a  town  which  has  always  had  enough  cranks 
to  turn  every  freak  machine  extant.  They  crossed  the 
muddy  Missouri  at  the  little  town  of  Mandan,  named 
from  the  curious  blue-eyed  Indians  who  once  lived 
about  it,  a  powerful  tribe.  At  Medora  they  caught 
sight  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores'  castle,  high  perched 
upon  a  crag,  and  of  the  great  packing  houses  builded 
with  his  American  wife's  "rocks."  The  little  town 
was  named  after  her.  At  the  mansion  extravagant 
hospitality  was  once  dispensed.  House  parties  feasted, 
danced,  hunted,  marveling  at  the  surrounding  wilder- 
ness and  the  luxury  that  had  invaded  it.  But  the  mar- 
quis has  ended  his  adventurous  life  in  far  away  Africa, 
the  great  buildings  are  abandoned,  like  the  foolish 
scheme  that  demanded  them,  and  serve  only  to  bring  to 
mind  a  man  whose  fine  riding  and  personal  bravery 
were  his  most  conspicuous  virtues. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  they  reached  the  Bad  Lands, 


4  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

for  they  traveled,  land  and  sea,  by  the  Northern  Pacific. 
If  the  Lands  have  been  Bad,  they  look  as  if  they  had 
suffered  enough  to  atone.  Scarred,  seamed,  desolate, 
their  tortured  buttes  stand,  seamed  as  by  fire.  When 
the  sun  shines  down  to  comfort  them,  many  beautiful 
colors  show  in  their  rugged  rocks.  Stern  fortresses, 
airy  castles,  piercing  spires,  pinnacles  and  domes 
rise  everywhere.  Under  the  moonlight  they  lie  ghastly 
and  mysterious  and  defiant.  One  butte  close  to  the 
railroad  is  shaped  like  a  huge  dome  with  curious 
beehives  standing  in  circles  around  it  upon  narrow 
platforms.  There  is  an  infinite  variety  to  the  fantastic 
forms.  Some  forts  still  smoke,  as  if  the  enemy  had 
but  just  retired.  All  the  region  resembles  the  battle- 
ground of  fiends.  What  a  mighty  fire  was  this,  when 
the  very  earth  bubbled  up  in  tortured  heat.  The  Bad 
Lands  are,  to  me,  one  of  the  most  fascinating  places  in 
the  world.  I  should  love  to  spend  many  days  in  then4 
pathless  fastnesses. 

Next  the  Rockies.  The  Northern  Pacific  gathers  the 
mountains  together  and  threads  the  emerald  valleys 
upon  its  steel  wires.  I  never  pass  through  this  mag- 
nificent scenery  unmoved,  among 

[The  hills,  rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, 
The  vales  stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between. 

Fair  Helena  and  Missoula  of  Montana,  and  Spokane, 
dabbling  her  feet  in  the  rapid  river ;  the  mountain  rills, 
cascades,  Lake  Pend  d'Oreille,  so  many  beauties.  Eyes 
both  brown  and  blue  tired  with  eager  sight. 

The  fourth  day:  Myriads  of  flowers,  lovely  fruit 
farms,  great  trees,  seemingly  rooted  for  aye  to  the  rich 
black  soil,  yet  masts  to  be  to  ships  as  yet  unbuilt,  which 
will  proudly  sail  to  countless  ports.  At  last  Tacoma, 
sitting  in  beauty  upon  her  hills,  glancing  a  complacent 
eye  to  the  busy  docks  below,  only  to  note  their  ever- 


TOWARD  THE  NORTH  LAND  5 

increasing  foreign  and  domestic  commerce,  then  look- 
ing dreamily  down  the  blue  waters  of  Puget  Sound, 
far  out  upon  the  broad  Pacific,  or  backward  to  Mount 
Tacoma,  rising  majestically  to  heaven.  I  always  love 
that  mountain  best  at  the  particular  time  I  am  viewing 
it,  whether  it  be  when  the  morning  sun  wakens  it  by 
waving  rosy  pennants  over  its  snowy  breast ;  the  mid- 
day shines  in  golden  splendor  over  it ;  when,  in  late 
afternoon,  the  mountain  burns  with  changing  fires, 
like  a  priceless  opal  worn  by  Mother  Earth  upon 
her  bosom;  or,  set  about  by  stars,  Luna  fastens  her 
sable  garments  with  the  exquisite  great  moonstone. 
In  Tacoma  is  an  artist  named  Bradley.  "The  moun- 
tain has  hypnotized  me, "  she  complained.  "I  cannot 
break  away  from  its  charm.  I  take  a  fresh  canvas  and 
mix  my  paints  for  something  new.  Then  I  glance  out 
upon  its  serene  beauty  and  the  picture  I  had  meant  to 
paint  becomes  indistinct,  and  I  find  myself  painting 
Mount  Tacoma  again.  I  am  becoming  a  mono-artist, 
if  not  a  monomaniac  on  the  subject;"  and  Mrs.  Brad- 
ley gave  an  impatient  dab  at  her  offending  mountain. 

Further  up  the  bay  is  Seattle,  aggressive,  progres- 
sive ;  not  beautiful,  but  busy. 

Then  again  the  little  hand  stole  into  the  elder's  and 
the  pilgrims  went  aboardship,  gladly  leaving  the  party 
of  tourists  which  had  taken  possession  of  the  hotel: 

Some  minds  improve  by  travel ;  others  rather 

Resemble  copper,  wire  or  brass, 
Which  gets  the  narrower  by  going  further.  / 

In  the  tiny  cabin  of  the  ship  they  sat  themselves 
down  and  curiously  watched  the  passengers  as  they 
arrived.  At  one  of  the  clock  on  a  Saturday,  with  many 
a  cheer  from  those  watching  upon  the  docks,  they 
steamed  away  to  the  Northland,  to  the  Land  of  Cold 
and  Gold,  Alaska. 


6  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

Not  even  the  Bay  of  Naples  is  bluer  than  the  waters 
of  Puget  Sound.  Wild  flowers  run  down  the  shore  to 
admire  their  beauty  in  its  clear  depths,  blue-green 
firs  crowd  its  banks,  the  snowy  mountains  of  the  Coast 
Range  stand- guard.  Now  the  Straits  of  Juan  de  Fuca, 
at  last  the  open  ocean !  That  first  evening  aboard  was 
lively  and,  the  talk  turning  upon  Alaska,  the  omnipres- 
ent statistician  gave  out  some  FACTS  which  were,  for  a 
wonder,  interesting.  Alaska  has  4,000  miles  of  coast- 
line, about  two  and  a  half  times  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
United  States,  and  the  beach  sand  of  all  the  Alaskan 
coast,  according  to  Dr.  Becker,  contains  enormous 
quantities  of  gold.  Attempts  to  obtain  this  have 
been  made  at  Yakutat  Bay,  south  of  Mount  St.  Elias, 
and  on  the  west  shore  of  Kadiak  Island,  but  without 
encouraging  success.  Alaska  is  1,000  miles  from  north 
to  south,  and  is  in  area  one-fifth  of  the  entire  United 
States.  It  has  11,000  bays  and  islands.  The  name  was 
suggested  by  Sumner  as  Captain  Cook  had  named  the  na- 
tives Alaskans.  Even  at  half  a  cent  an  acre  this  country 
did  not  care  for  Alaska.  Czar  Nicholas  twice  proffered 
it,  but  'twas  not  till  warships  approached  New  York 
and  San  Francisco,  and  England  and  France  were  con- 
templating recognizing  the  confederacy,  that  it  was  de- 
cided to  purchase  Russian  America,  principally  to  make 
the  Czar  friendly.  The  sale  was  concluded  in  1867. 

By  the  next  day  all  this  and  more  was  forgotten.  I 
wish  to  state  right  here  that  the  Pacific  is  pacified  in 
much  the  same  fashion  as  Cuba  was.  And  if  it  were 
"peaceful,"  it  allowed  no  one  else  to  be.  Almost  every 
passenger  had  some  medicine  warranted  a  sure  pre- 
ventive against  sea-sickness  and  as  people  began  to 
feel  that  life  at  best  was  but  a  vale  of  tears,  they  pro- 
duced these  remedies  and  insisted  upon  the  others'  try- 
ing them.  One  lady  took  some  of  her  own  "infallible" 


TOWARD  THE  NORTH  LAND  7 

cure.  The  effect,  such  as  it  was,  was  instantaneous. 
As  she  very  elegantly  expressed  it,  "I  thought  I  had 
swallowed  a  rocket."  After  recovering  strength  she 
staggered  to  her  room,  got  that  bottle  of  medicine  and 
threw  it  overboard,  saying:  "There,  Mr.  Whale,  when 
you  swallow  that,  you'll  be  good  and  seasick."  Well, 
it  isn't  a  pleasant  subject,  let  us  leave  it.  That's  all 
an  ocean  voyage  is  to  me,  and  sailors — men  who  while 
possessed  of  their  five  senses  actually  choose  to  be  upon 
the  sea,  have  always  been  unfathomable  mysteries  to 
me. 

It  was  upon  my  first  ocean  voyage  that  a  friend's 
letter  contained  some  Bible  verses  which  struck  me  as 
being  wonderfully  applicable : 

"They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do 
business  in  great  waters,  these  see  the  works  of  the 
Lord  and  His  wonders  in  the  deep.  For  He  command- 
eth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  which  lifteth  up  the 
waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the  heaven,  they  go 
down  again  to  the  depths :  their  soul  is  melted  because 
of  trouble.  They  reel  to  and  fro  and  stagger  like  a 
drunken  man,  and  are  at  their  wit's  end.  He  maketh 
it  the  storm  calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 
Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet:  so  He 
bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven." 


CHAPTER  II 

DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA 

Some  day  my  life  ship  shall  cease  its  restless  tossing, 
my  sick  heart  have  done  with  buffeting  the  waves. 
Trouble  shall  roll  over  me  no  more,  neither  shall  I  sink 
into  its  depths.  Even  the  monotony  of  the  life  voyage 
shall  be  spent,  and  silently,  without  regret,  I  shall 
drift  into  the  harbor  of  Peace,  perchance  to  find 
moored  there  the  treasure  ships  freighted  long  ago 
which  I  thought  were  lost  at  sea.  I  shall  scarcely 
greet  that  day  more  gladly  than  the  one  which  brought 
us  in  view  of  the  Aleutians,  to  my  sea- weary  eyes  verita- 
ble Isles  of  the  Blest.  Rising  abruptly  from  the  sea, 
desolate,  silent,  treeless,  they  look  but  half  finished,  as 
if  God,  finding  that  men  had  already  begun  to  sin  and 
to  suffer,  had  hurried  back  to  pleasanter  lands.  These 
mountain  islands  seem  to  wall  the  edge  of  the  world. 
Forbidding  not  only,  but  surprised  they  seem.  One 
mountain,  I  am  sure,  had  never  felt  the  step  of  man 
nor  heard  a  child's  laughter.  No  wonder  it  kept  our 
ship  in  sight  as  long  as  possible.  As  we  leaned  over 
the  rail  watching  it  I  said:  "To  think  of  spending  one's 
life  upon  that  crag,  the  Pacific  behind,  Bering  Sea 
before,  no  sound,  no  change.  I  should  die  with  the 
horror  of  it."  A  cheery  voice  answered,  "If  my  hus- 
band and  children  were  with  me  I  could  live  in  perfect 
content  with  never  a  word  from  the  world,  nor  even 
this  passing  sight  of  a  ship."  I  turned  and  looked 
sharply  at  her.  Yes,  she  meant  it.  I  believe  in  faith 
which  can  remove  mountains,  but  to  stand  upon  one,  a 

8 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA    9 

portrait  monument  of  and  to  yourself!  And  not  a 
home-y  mountain  with  which  you  might  become 
acquainted,  with  trees  and  wagon  roads  and  animals, 
but  that  particular  Aleutian  desolation.  Is  there 
really  such  a  love?  It  would  be  like  awakening  in 
His  likeness  and  being  satisfied. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  entered  the 
dangerous  pass  approaching  Dutch  Harbor.  Between 
Unimak  and  Aktan  it  is  as  difficult  to  choose  as  be- 
tween the  relative  desirability  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis. 
Without  the  islands  and  along  them,  high,  slender, 
sharp  rocks  stand  sentinel,  and  beneath  the  water 
others  conceal  themselves  to  pierce  the  ships,  enemies 
of  their  solitude.  The  Aleutians  are  volcanic  and 
these  rocks  are  also  their  scouts.  It  has  often  been 
noted  that  the  '* Needles"  pierce  through  the  sea  to 
reconnoitre.  If  all's  well,  an  island  rises  just  beyond. 
Against  them  all  the  sea  rages,  rushing  so  furiously 
upon  the  unyielding  battlements  that  he  froths  at  the 
mouth. 

As  we  neared  Dutch  Harbor  the  sun  was  setting  and 
the  hills,  bathed  in  floods  of  pink  and  purple  and  gold 
looked  ethereal.  A  water-fall  sprang  high  in  air  from 
a  cliff,  straight  to  the  sea.  Millions  of  small  white 
birds  covered  the  water,  and  rose  in  clouds  into  the 
air.  I  have  never  seen  these  "murs"  elsewhere,  but 
at  this  entrance  to  Bering  Sea  their  countless  myriads 
sometimes  literally  obscure  the  sun.  Just  without  the 
harbor  stands  a  detached  rock  which  bears  a  strange 
resemblance  to  a  Russian  priest  in  full  canonicals. 
Touched  by  the  crimson  light  as  from  some  gorgeous 
cathedral  window  he  stood  blessing  the  harbor.  The 
scene  was  of  great  and  softened  beauty.  One  old  man 
said  softly:  "We  have  reached  the  Delectable  Moun- 
tains." 


io          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

It  was  growing  dark  as  we  entered  Dutch  Harbor — 
what  a  hideous  name  for  such  a  magnificent  place! 
Almost  land-locked  by  mountains,  the  navies  of  the 
whole  world  might  safely  rest  within  it.  Several  ves- 
sels were  lying  there,  each  with  a  different  country's 
flag  at  the  mast  head,  and  the  light  of  the  little  hamlet 
blinked  in  the  darkness. 

Dutch  Harbor  is  a  coaling  station.  Another  ship 
had  precedence  that  night,  and  all  rejoiced  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  day  ashore.  O  the  blessed  ground !  Columbus 
is  said  to  have  thrown  himself  upon  the  earth  to  em- 
brace the  New  World.  The  solid  ground  seemed  a 
new  world  to  me  after  that  heave-y  old  sea,  and  I  felt 
like  following  his  august  example.  But  what  was 
eminently  proper  in  an  admiral,  a  maker  of  history,  a 
man  of  the  Fifteenth  century,  would  have  been  most 
ridiculous  in  a  sea-sick  little  voyager,  a  scribbler,  a 
woman  of  this  cut-and-dried  old  Twentieth  century. 

The  temperature  never  falls  low  in  the  Aleutians, 
owing  to  the  Japan  Current,  but  the  winters  are  long, 
foggy,  chilling  one's  very  marrow,  and  so  windy,  they 
told  me,  that  the  very  houses  must  be  anchored. 

The  next  morning  we  walked  across  the  hills  to  Un- 
alaska.  O,  that  walk!  It  is  one  that  my  memory  has 
often  retaken  without  weariness  and  with  delight  ever. 
Its  path  winds  close  beside  others,  thousands  of  miles 
away  in  reality,  and  years  apart.  I  feel  the  soft  breath- 
ing of  June  against  my  face,  the  light  green  turf 
springing  to  meet  my  foot ;  wild  flowers  shyly  peeking 
out  everywhere  at  the  strangers,  mountains  and  spark- 
ling sea  greeting  them  in  new  beauty  at  every  turn. 
Dutch  Harbor  and  Unalaska  are  upon  different  islands. 
Their  shores  are  strewn  with  pretty  shells  and  barna- 
cles and  starfish,  and  one  of  the  amusements  is  digging 
for  delicious  rock  clams.  While  waiting  for  the  Aleut 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  U1STALASKA         n 

boys  to  row  us  across,  we  found  many  treasures  which, 
afterward  crushed  in  our  trunks,  cut  and  soiled  our 
belongings  and  rasped  our  tempers.  This  is  an  old 
trick  of  mine.  I  should  think  that  by  this  time  I 
should  have  known  that  those  lovely  Delft-colored 
muscle  shells  would  never  reach  home.  I  am  always 
picking  up  such  truck  on  my  travels,  which  is  invaria- 
bly either  broken  or  afterward  discarded  because  of 
its  weight,  or  because,  apart  from  its  surroundings,  its 
charm  was  gone  and  I  wondered  why  I  had  toted  it 
away.  One  man  found  a  beautiful  light  green  flat  stone 
covered  with  barnacles  high  enough  for  a  unique  match 
safe.  I  did  want  that.  I  really  think  that  would  have 
reached  home. 

The  scenery  at  Unalaska  is  superb.  If  it  were  in 
Europe,  the  great  American  snob  would  besiege  the 
odd  little  hamlet  nestling  at  the  mountain's  foot  and 
looking  through  vistas  upon  the  sparkling  sea  of  Bering. 
To  the  right  rises  the  most  distinctive  mountain  I  ever 
saw.  It  looks  like  a  huge  wave,  with  wave  upon  wave 
ascending  to  its  crest.  It  is  treeless,  but  covered  with 
a  light  green  grass  as  bright  as  that  which  grows  in 
early  Spring  along  the  sedges  of  a  woodland  brook.  In 
the  jagged  rocks  near  the  water  breed  the  eagles,  and 
huge  ravens,  larger  than  any  I  have  ever  before  seen, 
flew  everywhere. 

Mount  Makushin,  a  mildly  active  volcano,  is  on  the 
island  of  Unalaska,  and  is  the  only  one  of  the  volcanoes 
on  the  Aleutians  that  has  been  ascended.  Think  of  it, 
ye  unpatriotic  Americans  who  boast  of  having  climbed 
to  the  Matterhorn's  peak.  Last  year  when  both  the 
American  party  and  the  Italian  prince  were  on  their  way 
to  attempt  Mount  St.  Elias,  Captain  Anderson  of  the 
Dora  said  to  the  former,  "If  you  don't  scud  up  that 
mountain  before  that  foreigner,  I  declare  I'll  leave 


i2          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

you  in  over  winter."  Sixty  miles  west  of  Unalaska  is 
Mount  Bogoslof,  which  has  recently  been  in  energetic 
eruption.  But  the  most  beautiful  of  them  all  is  Mount 
Shishaldi  on  the  island  of  Unimak,  the  largest  of  the 
Aleutians.  This  volcano  is  8000  feet  high  and  is 
said  to  greatly  resemble  Mount  Fusiyama,  the  pride  of 
Japan,  celebrated  in  picture,  in  song  and  story.  When 
will  all  these  strange  and  beautiful  parts  of  our  own 
country  have  their  explorers,  enthusiasts,  lovers  and 
singers? 

Unalaska  resembles  other  Northern  stations  as  to 
buildings,  company  warehouses  at  the  docks,  the 
inevitable  Greek  church,  a  score  of  tiny  wooden  cot- 
tages in  a  row  built  by  the  company  for  its  native 
workers,  the  horrible  "barabbaras"  or  native  dug-outs 
on  the  outskirts,  and,  in  the  case  of  Unalaska,  a  large 
Methodist  mission  at  a  beautiful  curve  of  the  beach. 
Whalers  leave  here  for  the  Arctic,  fur  hunters  make  it 
their  headquarters.  Dutch  Harbor  is  station  for  our 
revenue  fleet,  there  is  much  coming  and  going  of  ships 
from  all  lands,  fishing  is  fine — how  I  should  enjoy  a 
summer  in  and  about  this  lovely  place.  I  was  shown 
through  the  fur  warehouse  where  thousands  of  otter, 
mink,  bear,  fox,  beaver,  lynx,  and  marten  skins  hung. 
They  looked  better  than  they  smelled.  One  of  a  well- 
known  New  York  family  had  just  returned  from  a  hunt 
after  sea-otter,  and  told  me  many  interesting  things, 
as  we  looked  over  the  pelts.  He  was  five  years  in  the 
signal  service  north  and  for  the  past  six  has  been  hunt- 
ing sea  fur-bearing  animals. 

"Yes,  I  made  a  good  otter  catch  this  time,  got  fifty- 
six  skins,  but  this  year  they  are  worth  from  $150  to 
$180  apiece  only.  Last  year  they  brought  as  high  as 
$290.  Of  course  they  sell  for  four  or  five  times  that 
when  dressed." 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA    13 

"Isn't  that  a  beauty?"  he  said,  flinging  upon  the 
floor  a  glistening  "silver  tip"  otter  skin.  It  was  that. 
Each  black  hair  gleamed  at  its  end  as  if  it  were  an 
infinitesimal  faerie  torch.  Miladi  will  look  very  regal 
in  that  fur  as  she  leans  back  in  her  cockaded  sleigh. 
"Here,"  he  continued,  "are  some  inferior  gray  otter 
pelts.  The  Russians  are  the  only  people  who  know 
how  to  successfully  dye  them,  so  all  these  skins  go 
direct  to  St.  Petersburg.  They 're  the  people  who  know 
how  to  handle  furs."  I  couldn't  help  replying,  "I 
should  think  they  would  be.  If  Americans  had  such 
a  climate,  they  would  excel  in  handling  furs.  It's  like 
the  Russians'  linguistic  accomplishments.  The  fact 
is,  if  they  can  master  their  own  language,  every  other 
is  simply  baby  talk  to  them." 

Otters  are  exceedingly  timid,  and  the  increasing 
number  of  vessels  has  driven  them  away  from  their 
usual  haunts.  Then  they  have  been  remorselessly 
slaughtered  for  many  years.  The  biggest  catch  known 
about  here  was  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  taken  by  a 
single  schooner  several  years  ago.  Last  year  the  best 
catch  was  one  hundred  and  sixteen.  Whites  are  not 
allowed  to  hunt  otter  ashore,  nor  foreigners  within 
three  miles  of  it,  but  natives  may.  Authorities  say  it 
will  be  but  a  short  time  before  otters  will  be  extinct  in 
this  part  of  the  world.  The  schools  contain  from  one 
hundred  to  two  thousand.  Last  year  there  was  a  con- 
stant fusillade  from  the  hunters  carried  out  by  five 
schooners.  Seals,  too,  are  dying  out.  What  will  the 
petted  beauty  of  the  near  future  do  for  the  sumptuous 
furs  which  so  enhance  the  loveliness  of  her  face?  Mil- 
lionaires may  be  driven  to  stocking  preserves  for  their 
fur  animals  as  they  do  now  for  their  game.  Then 
when  little  Miss  Vanderbilt  is  born,  some  baby  seals, 
with  sable  babies  to  trim  them,  will  be  set  apart  for  her 


14  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

dowry;  and  grandmother  Astor,  dying,  will  bequeath 

''item,  my  seal  muff  and  collar  to  my  best  beloved 

as  highest  proof  of  my  sense  of  her  lifelong  devotion. ' ' 
As  for  "the  masses,"  there  won't  be  so  much  as  a  fur 
glove  among  them.  Even  the  land  fur  bearers  will  be 
exterminated  by  advancing  civilization,  and  imitation 
rat-skin  will  command  high  prices. 

Seals  are  unwary.  They  are  best  frunted  in  rough 
weather  and  when  they  are  asleep,  but  it  is  useless  to 
go  out  for  otters  unless  it  is  perfectly  calm.  A  ripple 
spoils  it,  for  the  hunter  can't  see  the  otter's  nose, 
which  is  all  the  animal  vouchsafes  of  himself  above  the 
water.  This  is  one  reason  the  fur  is  costly.  A 
schooner  bears  all  the  expenses  of  the  trip,  even  to 
ammunition,  and  has  one-third  of  the  catch.  Some- 
times a  month  will  afford  no  right  days  for  otter  hunt- 
ing ;  last  year  one  schooner  was  out  six  weeks  without 
an  opportunity  and  the  season  is  only  about  four 
months  long.  The  best  time  is  soon  after  daybreak, 
with  the  sea  calm  as  a  duckpond  and  a  slight  fog. 
Then  all  hands  enter  canoes  and  without  a  word  or 
noise  of  any  kind  proceed  in  a  straight  line,  each 
watching  closely  for  the  otter's  snout.  When  any  man 
perceives  it,  he  quietly  elevates  his  paddle  and  the  line 
of  canoes  swiftly  encircle  the  victim.  The  otter  dives 
and  remains  under  water  as  long  as  possible,  about  ten 
minutes.  When  he  rises  to  the  surface  to  breathe,  the 
hunters  affright  him  and  he  dives  again  and  again, 
remaining  beneath  the  water  a  shorter  and  shorter 
time  until,  exhausted,  he  can  do  no  more,  and  the 
unfortunate  otter  is  then  clubbed  to  death  or  speared. 
The  otter  is  generally  found  from  twelve  to  thirty 
miles  off  shore,  where  he  feeds  on  fish  that  swim 
between  the  surface  and  the  bottom.  When  he  finds 
himself  near  land  he  goes  ashore  to  feed,  but  one  man 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA   15 

told  me  he  had  killed  otters  in  one  hundred  and  twenty 
fathoms  of  water.  It  is  odd  that  they  prefer  certain 
places  and  are  never  found  far  from  them. 

When  I  said  I  supposed  natives  are  the  best  otter 
hunters,  the  answer  was,  "Not  by  any  means.  When 
you're  successful  in  getting  some  otters,  whites 
become  excited  and  eager  to  pursue  the  chase — their 
race  name  is  Oliver  Twist.  Every  carcass  is  an  incen- 
tive. But  the  Aleuts,  if  successful,  soon  tire.  'We 
have  some.  If  we  catch  him  not  this  year,  why  next, ' 
and  they  want  to  go  back  to  the  ship."  They  eat  the 
otter  flesh,  but  there  is  no  oil.  Aleuts  like  to  hunt  the 
sea  lion,  for  its  flesh  is  favorite  food;  they  use  the 
skins  for  canoes,  the  stomach  for  bags  to  hold  the  blub- 
ber, the  throat  for  the  tops  of  boots,  and  the  flippers 
for  soles.  The  whites  use  sea  lion  whiskers  for  tooth- 
picks. 

From  the  fur  warehouse,  I  hurried  after  the  others 
who  had  gone  to  the  Greek  church,  but  on  the  way,  at 
the  suggestion  of  one  who  knew  "the  holy  father,"  we 
stopped  to  call  upon  him.  The  knock  was  answered 
by  a  Russian  priest.  If  "cleanliness  is  next  to  godli- 
ness" be  accepted  literally,  he  must  be  in  close  prox- 
imity to  the  devil.  His  dirty,  scant,  tan-colored  cloth 
robe  fell  to  his  feet.  Its  only  decoration  was  spangles 
of  grease  spots,  in  sizes  varying  from  a  large  number 
of  spatters  as  if  the  father  had  been  frying  doughnuts, 
to  several  the  size  of  a  dollar.  We  were  told  the  holy 
father  was  in  counsel.  I  was  glad  of  it ;  if  the  interior 
of  the  house  looked  as  it  smelled,  I  could  forego  the 
pleasure  of  the  call  without  a  pang.  I  am  not  a  bigot ; 
any  church  which  practices  and  preaches  purity, 
helpfulness,  sobriety,  and  genuine  love  of  God  and 
man  compels  my  respect.  It  is  because  the  Greek 
priesthood  and  church  in  Alaska  neither  live  nor  teach 


16  THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

these  cardinal  virtues  that  I  say  emphatically  that  they 
are,  generally  speaking,  an  insult  to  a  forbearing  God, 
a  disgrace  to  civilization,  and  a  stumbling  block  to  the 
natives.  There  are  undoubtedly  noble  men  among 
the  Russian  priests,  but  in  Alaska,  with  few  exceptions, 
they  are  grossly  immoral,  intemperate  to  beastliness, 
ignorant,  gambling,  lazy  and  grasping.  At  Fort 
Wrangell,  a  friend  saw  a  Russian  priest  in  his  sacred 
robes,  so  drunk  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  con- 
tinue the  gambling  whereby  he  was  passing  the  time 
till  he  should  be  called  to  administer  extreme  unction  to 
a  dying  man  upstairs.  Methinks  I  would  go  hence 
unshriven  rather  than  mingle  my  last  faint  breath  with 
this  priest's,  strong  with  quass.  Quass  is  the  horrible 
drink  the  Russians  have  introduced  among  the  natives. 
It  is  brewed  from  sugar  or  molasses,  and  simply  drives 
a  man  mad.  It  is  so  intoxicating  that,  as  one  described 
it  to  me,  its  devotees  "must  hold  on  the  grass  to  keep 
from  rolling  off  the  ground. ' ' 

At  Unalaska,  some  time  ago  "the  holy  father"  was 
an  extreme  type  of  this  dangerous  priesthood.  The 
Aleuts  would  come  for  his  blessing  on  their  projected 
hunting  trips.  This  valuable  benediction  he  would 
exchange  for  the  best  skin  of  the  man's  catch.  If  the 
otter  pelt  was  not  sufficiently  fine  to  suit  the  holy  man, 
he  would  pour  out  a  torrent  of  profanity  and  abuse  and 
yell,  "Do  you  expect  to  go  to  Heaven  on  a  measly  old 
skin  like  that?"  Often  the  frightened  "barbarian" 
would,  out  of  his  penury,  buy  a  fine  otter  skin  to  placate 
the  priest.  He  finally,  in  this  and  similar  ways, 
amassed  a  fortune  of  several  thousands  and  left  his 
clerical  duties  for  a  time  to  spend  a  season  in  San 
Francisco,  where  he  took  a  house,  filled  it  with  prosti- 
tutes, and  remained  until  the  last  cent  was  squandered. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  pastorate  in  Unalaska  to  shear 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA        17 

his  flock.  What  said  the  Good  Shepherd,  "Feed  my 
sheep?"  I  recall  nothing  about  fleecing  them.  He  of 
old  "carried  the  lambs  in  his  bosom;"  but  when 
Romanoff,  the  Russian  priest,  entered  a  village,  young 
and  old  came  to  meet  him  on  their  knees. 

Ruskin,  always  bold  and  plain,  reminds  us  that  "  a 
Bishop  means  a  person  who  sees.  A  pastor  means 
one  who  feeds,"  and  so  logically  says,  "the  most 
unbishoply  character  a  man  can  have  is  therefore  to  be 
Blind.  The  most  unpastoral  is,  instead  of  feeding,  to 
want  to  be  fed,  to  be  a  Mouth. ' ' 

Bishop  Nestor,  whose  monument  stands  in  the  little 
cemetery  surrounding  the  little  church  in  Unalaska, 
was  reverenced  by  everybody  as  a  saintly  man.  Pure, 
self-sacrificing,  active,  he  greatly  deplored  the  state  of 
his  clergy  and  the  Alaskan  church,  and  was  inde- 
fatigable in  seeking  reform.  The  natives  honored  him, 
they  regarded  him  as  their  spiritual  father,  but  no 
neglected  half  breed  children  called  him  father  in  any 
other  sense.  He  was  drowned  from  a  ship.  It  is 
reported  that  he  had  committed  suicide  while  tempo- 
rarily insane  from  overwork,  but  those  who  claim  to 
know,  say  he  was  pushed  overboard  by  one  deputized 
to  do  it,  as  the  memorial  the  bishop  had  prepared  to 
forward  to  the  Czar  would  probably  have  changed  per- 
sons and  things  if  brought  to  the  Autocrat's  notice. 
For  this  is  the  principal  cause  of  such  a  ministry,  that 
every  Alaskan  priest  receives  his  commission  direct 
from  the  Czar.  In  Alaska,  it  is  a  profession  or  a  trade 
rather  than  a  religious  affair. 

The  results  of  this  misconduct  of  a  great  majority  of 
the  whites  on  the  island  are  everywhere  seen  in  the 
neglected  half-breed  children,  half  of  whom  seem  to 
bear  one  white  man's  name,  by  courtesy— and  by 
various  mothers.  One  of  the  leading  company  officials 


i8  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

has  several  children  whom  he  does  not  even  own. 
They  are  charity  pupils  at  the  mission,  although  he  is 
rich.  It  is  a  shocking  fact  that  not  long  ago  a  native 
woman  and  her  daughter  were  both  pregnant  by  the 
same  "white"  man — with  a  heart  black  as  hell.  The 
elder  threatened  her  daughter  if  she  dared  to  bear  her 
child  first,  but  Nature  exists  even  in  such  unnatural 
beings,  and  the  younger  woman's  poor  little  baby  first 
opened  its  eyes  upon  this  wicked  world,  whereupon 
the  enraged  grandmother  threw  the  little  thing  into 
the  fire.  It  was  rescued,  horribly  burned,  and  lives 
yet,  scarred  with  the  mark  of  Cain. 

On  every  hand  are  deformed,  misshapen,  hideous 
children.  You  see  when  the  village  is  indulging  in 
quass,  babies  are  apt  to  be  stepped  upon  in  the  dance, 
or  to  fall  from  the  mother's  nerveless  arm  only  to  lie, 
twisted  and  agonized  and  half-starved,  till  the  orgy 
ends.  In  drunken  rage,  too,  the  prattling  toddlers 
may  be  violently  thrown  out  of  the  way.  Worse  than 
orphaned,  these  unfortunates  grow  up  in  ignorance 
and  poverty  and  vice,  while  their  fathers'  wives,  fair 
of  face,  wrapt  in  rich  furs,  sparkling  with  jewels,  go 
their  way  in  gay  cities,  and  reck  not  of  the  poor 
Aleut  women  over  the  sea.  No  wonder  that  **  The 
fool  has  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God. ' ' 

The  native  houses  are  all  alike,  tiny  brown  cottages, 
close  together,  numbered,  quite  citified,  and  with  a 
narrow  sidewalk  in  front.  They  are  all  owned  by  the 
company.  The  Aleut  men  fish  and  hunt  for  the  com- 
pany. The  cottages  are  comparatively  tidy  and  clean ; 
some  even  have  curtains  and  plants  in  tin  cans  at  the 
windows.  The  natives  belong  to  the  Greek  church, 
and  in  the  corner  of  every  living  room  is  the  inevitable 
tiny  shrine,  painted  blue,  white,  and  yellow,  with  tas- 
sels carved  of  wood.  Near  by  hang  cheap  prints  of  the 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA    19 

Czar  and  Czarina.  I  asked  one  intelligent  but  delicate 
and  dissipated  looking-  woman  why  she  did  not  have 
the  President's — did  she  not  know  that  Alaska  belongs 
to  the  United  States?  She  smiled  agreeably,  though 
the  light  of  her  smile  was  somewhat  beclouded  by  an 
artificially  blackened  eye,  colored,  I  was  informed,  in 
a  recent  society  event  where  quass  was  poured  by 
several  charming  young  women — to  adapt  the  account 
to  social-column  style.  It  is  really  surprising  how 
awkward  conversation  becomes,  with  a  black  eye — I 
mean  one  whose  sable  hue,  diversified  with  green  and 
blue,  exceeds  the  usual  limit  of  the  orb — staring  one  in 
the  face.  But  I  admit  that  her  ease  of  manner  ex- 
ceeded mine  own,  the  awkwardness  was  mainly  on  my 
part.  She  did  not  know  the  President's  name,  but  was 
willing  to  hang  his  picture  beside  the  others  and  to 
drape  it  with  the  flag  that  makes  you  free  if  I  sent  them 
to  her.  Would  not  that  be  an  excellent  use  to  put  the 
left-over  campaign  pictures  to,  to  send  them  to  the 
Aleutians  and  interior  Alaska? 

The  Russian  priests  seem  to  understand  as  little  that 
the  country  is  ours.  They  rule  the  natives  like  little 
czars.  Two  years  ago  the  Russian  bishop  asked  the 
Russian  minister  at  Washington  to  demand  the  removal 
of  every  teacher  in  Unalaska.  They  misinterpret  the 
treaty,  which  says  that  their  religious  institutions  shall 
not  be  interfered  with. 

I  met  United  States  Commissioner  Woodward  and 
heartily  laughed  over  his  account  of  the  ins  and  outs 
of  justice  in  our  colonies,  as  the  British  would  say.  In 
the  three  years  he  has  been  at  Unalaska  he  has  heard 
fourteen  cases,  mostly  for  assault.  Two  white  men 
were  tried  for  abducting  young  girls  from  the  mission 
schools.  ''When  I  struck  the  island,"  said  Mr.  Wood- 
ward, "I  found  as  my  sole  official  possession,  a  huge 


20          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

box  of  commissioners'  reports.  I  rented  this  shabby 
house  of  the  company,  bought  a  thirty-dollar  stove — the 
government  had  allowed  me  fifteen  for  that  purpose, 
unpacked  my  worldly  goods,  and  began  my  four  years' 
term  in  this  out-of-the-world  place.  The  very  next 
day  the  marshal  brought  me  a  murderer,  and  departed. 
Now,  with  the  safest  of  jails  and  all  modern  con- 
veniences, a  murderer  isn't  a  pleasant  responsibility 
for  one  new  at  the  business;  but  as  there  was  no  jail 
of  any  kind,  and  we  have  no  guest  chamber  in  our 
small  domicile,  he  became  positively  embarrassing. 
"Chain  him  in  the  coal  house,"  said  my  wife.  This 
we  did,  though,  dear  me,  he  didn't  want  to  get  away; 
there  was  no  place  to  escape  to,  just  sea  on  all  sides. 
He  was  only  too  glad  to  lounge  around  and  be  fed 
from  our  table.  We  were  thankful  when  we  shipped 
that  man  to  the  States.  Well,  we  worried  along  with- 
out a  jail  till  the  survey  departed.  They  had  erected 
an  observing  shed  on  the  beach,  which  of  course  they 
left.  The  marshal,  who  was  now  allowed  the  munifi- 
cent sum  of  five  dollars  a  month  for  a  jail,  eagerly 
seized  upon  this  shed,  which  was  little  larger  than  a 
patrol  box.  He  strengthened  it  a  bit,  but  a  good  stout 
man  can  even  yet  simply  pick  up  his  prison  on  his 
shoulders  and  walk  off  like  a  snail.  However,"  and 
the  commissioner's  eyes  twinkled,  "we  don't  have  to 
worry  about  escaped  convicts,  for  the  marshal  abso- 
lutely refuses  to  take  any  more  prisoners.  He  says  he 
doesn't  propose  to  board  every  criminal  in  the  Aleu- 
tians at  his  own  expense  at  any  such  salary  as  he  ob- 
tains. ' '  The  whole  ridiculous  situation  would  afford  a 
good  plot  for  a  comic  opera,  and  I  should  receive  a 
first-night  box  for  the  suggestion. 

I  don't  wish  to  interfere  in  any  way  with  the  work- 
ings of  our  great  American  political  machine,  especially 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA    21 

as  my  classification  among  idiots,  Indians,  minors,  and 
females  precludes  my  responsibility  in  the  matter ;  but 
even  to  an  i. ,  I. ,  m. ,  or  f .  it  does  seem  as  if  a  small 
percentage  of  political  boodle  might  be  very  profitably 
diverted  to  uphold  the  dignity  of  the  United  States 
Government  and  to  protect  its  citizens.  Its  commis- 
sioner at  Unalaska  occupies  a  position  important 
already,  and  becoming  more  so  as  Dutch  Harbor  is  on 
the  way  to  the  land  of  gold.  He  receives  one  thousand 
dollars  a  year  and  no  perquisites  of  any  kind.  He  is 
not  allowed  to  augment  his  income  by  outside  work,  as 
some  other  commissioners  do.  Living  is  of  course 
higher  than  in  the  States,  and  he  removes  his  family 
and  goods  at  his  own  expense.  Mr.  Woodward  was 
refused  even  personal  passage  on  the  revenue  cutter 
leaving  San  Francisco  for  Dutch  Harbor.  There  is 
one  advantage  of  such  governmental  niggardliness:  in 
case  a  competent  commissioner  without  much  money 
is  obtained,  he  must  finish  his  term  of  four  years,  for 
he  cannot  resign,  not  being  able  to  save  enough  to 
return  home. 

We  visited  the  Methodist  mission.  It  is  wonderful 
what  it  accomplishes  with  these  Aleut  and  half-breed 
girls.  Aleuts,  be  it  known,  are  no  more  Indians  than 
we,  and  they  resent  being  called  so.  They  are  proba- 
bly Asiatics,  and  strongly  resemble  the  Japanese. 
The  pupils  read  to  us  with  a  musical  and  distinct  enun- 
ciation, which  was  very  readily  traced  to  their  teacher. 
They  sang  very  sweetly,  too,  with  almost  invariably 
good  voices.  One  poor  child  was  pathetic  in  her  physi- 
cal ugliness,  dwarfed,  one-sided,  hunch-backed,  and 
cross-eyed,  but  her  mouth  was  quite  pretty,  as  I  dis- 
covered with  relief,  and  she  sang  like  a  lark.  How 
pleased  she  was  when  I  told  her  so.  Poor  girl,  whose 
parents'  brutality  may  have  saved  her  to  a  virtuous 


22          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

and  helpful  life !  The  pupils,  under  instruction,  do  all 
the  housework  and  cooking,  they  sew  and  knit,  and 
with  it  all  are  nearly  as  advanced  as  white  girls  of  their 
age  in  their  studies.  They  are  very  lady-like  and  cour- 
teous, and  some  of  them  are  quite  pretty.  One,  I 
remember,  was  tall  and  slender,  with  large,  dark  eyes 
and  curling  black  hair,  bright  and  very  graceful.  Her 
ambition,  she  confided  to  me,  was  to  go  to  Carlyle  and 
to  be  a  teacher.  My  heart  warmed  toward  her.  Yet 
that  lovely  girl  may  soon  become  the  mistress  of  some 
brute.  It  is  almost  impossible,  one  can  see,  to  find  the 
least  idea  of  virtue  or  tendency  toward  decency  among 
children  so  born  and  bred,  and  the  mission  teachers 
labor  against  the  greatest  odds.  Yet  several  prize  girls 
went  to  Carlyle  last  Fall  and  others  hope  to.  They 
win  friends,  too.  Mr.  P.  B.  Weare  is  educating  little 
Parsha  in  Chicago,  and  the  day  we  all  went  over  from 
the  ship,  Mrs.  Eli  Gage,  daughter-in-law  of  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Treasury,  a  young  and  generous  woman, 
took  a  great  fancy  to  a  pupil  who  happened  to  bear  her 
name,  Sophy,  and  assumed  her  expenses  at  the  mis- 
sion. Mrs.  D.  S.  Thayer,  of  Brockton,  Mass.,  whose 
portrait  hangs  in  the  neat  little  parlor,  has  been  one  of 
the  principal  workers  and  givers.  Mrs.  Anna  F. 
Beiler,  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  was  at  the  mission  on  a 
tour  of  inspection  for  her  church.  Mrs.  Beiler  is  the 
wife  of  the  vice-chancellor  of  the  projected  American 
university.  She  is  a  woman  of  wonderful  executive 
ability,  fearless  of  everybody  and  everything,  and  as 
one  of  the  men  said,  "the  most  liberal-minded  and 
level-headedest  Christian  I  ever  saw. ' ' 

As  I  sat  listening,  my  eyes  wandered  to  the  book- 
case— trust  them  for  that.  It  is  wonderful  people  have 
so  little  idea  what  "heathen"  children  would  enjoy 
and  be  benefited  by.  For  instance,  a  "Report  of  the 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA   23 

Department  of  Agriculture."  I  smiled  as  I  recalled  a 
friend  who  received  from  a  scientific  intimate,  just  to 
show  him  what  was  the  trend  of  his  work,  a  pamphlet 
treating  of  peach  yellows.  In  acknowledgment,  my 
friend  wrote  that  he  had  to  thank  him  for  a  sleepless 
night,  that  he  had  perused  the  thrilling  pages  with 
breathless  interest,  unable  to  retire  until  the  last 
fascinating  page  was  regretfully  reached.  What  would 
he  have  said  to  this  "Official  Catalogue  of  the 
World's  Columbian  Exposition?"  However,  other 
Aleut  tastes  are  presumably  satisfied  with  "Nelson  on 
Infidelity,"  and  an  old-fashioned  love  story  illustrated 
by  wood  cuts  which,  happily,  are  no  more.  Why  not 
send  this  mission  and  others  like  it  in  Alaska,  some  of 
our  own  children's  books  which  they  have  outgrown, 
some  bound  Youth's  Companions,  Golden  Days,  etc., 
juvenile  history  of  this  country,  "Zigzag"  travels,  in 
short,  such  books  as  you  choose  for  your  own  fortunate 
girls?  The  companies  have  been  very  good  in  carry- 
ing such  things  to  the  missions,  and  will  doubtless 
continue  to  be,  even  with  the  enormous  pressure  upon 
the  capacity  of  the  freight  occasioned  by  this  unpre- 
cedented rush  to  Alaska. 

I  visited  some  of  the  native  dugouts,  "barrabaras" 
as  they  call  them,  escorted  by  the  missionary  teacher 
who  seems  not  only  to  be  loved  and  admired  by  the 
pupils,  but  by  all  on  the  island.  She  is  the  sort  that 
accomplishes  something,  being  young,  wide-awake, 
enthusiastic,  and  not  by  any  means  least,  pretty.  She 
has  a  lovely  complexion  and  laughing  eyes  and  is  alto- 
gether good  to  look  upon.  She  is  a  Brooklyn  girl,  yet 
says,  and  looks  it,  that  she  is  quite  happy  and  content 
in  this  dull  little  hamlet  in  the  Northern  Pacific.  In- 
stead of  bursting  rudely  into  a  native's  home,  as  I  have 
seen  so  many  "benefactors"  do,  she  always  knocked; 


24          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

and  then,  with  a  cheery  word  and  smile,  made  herself 
genuinely  welcome. 

These  barrabaras  are  something  horrible.  They  are 
small  dugouts,  with  roofs  rounded  but  little  above  the 
ground,  like  mammoth  ant  hills.  They  resemble 
Heaven  in  but  one  particular:  the  proud  cannot  enter 
therein.  I  bent  almost  double  and  half  fell  into  one. 
There  were  two  rooms ;  and  suffice  it  to  say  that  every- 
thing in  the  way  of  rags  and  filth  that  wasn't  in  one 
apartment  was  in  the  other.  It  smelled  so  I  could 
hardly  see,  or  perhaps  my  eyes  were  dimmed  by  the 
pitiful  group.  A  woman  sat  upon  the  ground,  for 
there  was  no  floor.  She  was  pitifully  thin  and  the  rags 
scarcely  covered  her.  On  each  side  of  her  was  a  rude 
wooden  cradle  in  which  lay  a  wailing  baby.  The 
woman  was  bent  with  sickness,  and  coughed  till  quite 
exhausted.  She  was  too  weak  to  hold  the  twin  babies 
who  looked  half  famished  as  they  lay  upon  their  dirty 
beds  of  rags,  but  one  cradle  she  rocked  with  her  bare 
foot,  the  other  with  an  emaciated  hand.  Two  children 
sat  listlessly  upon  the  ground.  It  was  plain  to  be 
seen  that  the  woman  was  dying  of  consumption  in 
patient  misery.  She  asked  Miss  Mellor  to  ask  the 
doctor  for  some  more  medicine,  as  her  "cold"  was 
worse,  and  "Oh,  it  pains  so  here,"  she  said,  dully,  lay- 
ing a  scrawny  hand  upon  her  lungs.  I  was  glad  to  get 
back  into  the  fresh  air  and  the  comfort  which  a  beauti- 
ful bit  of  scenery  always  imparts.  Nothing  appears 
quite  so  hopeless  out  of  doors,  not  even  such  problems 
as  this  woman's  misery.  At  any  rate,  I  reminded  my- 
self, it  is  almost  ended.  A  few  weeks  more,  at  worst, 
of  hacking  cough  and  cruel  pain,  and  then  a  freed  soul 
shall  rise  whitely  from  the  squalor,  and,  pausing  but  a 
moment  to  look  once  again  upon  the  familiar  scene,  the 
treeless  mountains  and  sparkling  sea,  the  stately  ships 


DUTCH  HARBOR  AND  UNALASKA   25 

and  filthy  hovels,  shall  rise  lightly  above  it  all,  understand 
it  all,  and  surely,  ah  surely,  in  a  juster  world  find  its 
"  chance." 

All  the  small  islands  near  Dutch  Harbor  are  grass- 
grown.  It  is  strange  they  have  not  been  stocked  with 
cattle,  but  all  meat  is  shipped  from  the  States.  It  is 
part  of  Sheldon  Jackson's  plan,  however,  to  place  a 
pair  or  two  of  reindeer  upon  every  one  of  the  Aleutians. 
Their  increase  would  afford  food  for  the  shipwrecked, 
many  of  whom  have  been  starved  to  death  upon  these 
inhospitable  islands,  rock-girt,  and  approached  by 
perilous  passes.  It  is  an  inexplicable  fact  that  there 
is  not  a  single  light  house  nor  buoy  off  this  entire 
coast  of  Alaska.  What  excuse  has  the  government 
for  this  criminal  negligence?  Wrecks  are  very  com- 
mon. Three  years  ago,  word  was  brought  to  Dutch 
Harbor  that  a  ship  had  gone  down  off  one  of  the 
islands,  and  that  the  survivors  were  in  desperate 
straits.  The  Bear  was  in  winter  quarters  and  her 
boilers  being  repaired,  but  immediately  the  cutter  was 
got  ready  and  in  four  hours,  with  all  steam  on,  was 
hurrying  toward  Umnak,  where  a  dreadful  sight  met 
the  eyes  of  men  inured  to  witnessing  suffering.  The 
emaciated  survivors  sat  about  a  small  fire,  watching 
with  famished  eyes  a  kettle  which  contained  meat 
accursed.  In  their  extremity  they  had  first  eaten  one 
of  their  number  who  had  just  died.  They  had  hoped 
against  hope,  for  a  ship,  and  starvation  was  again  seiz- 
ing upon  them  when  they  remembered  one  of  their 
fellows  who  had  succumbed  to  his  sufferings  two  weeks 
before,  and  had  been  buried.  With  loathing  and 
horrid  hurry,  they  had  disinterred  the  decayed  body 
and  it  was  this  hideous  thing  which  was  cooking  over 
the  fire  when  the  officers  entered  the  improvised  hut. 
So  intent  were  the  sufferers  that  they  had  not  heard 


26          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

the  relief  party.  When  carried  to  the  ship — for  they 
were  too  weak  to  walk — they  could  scarcely  speak. 
One  of  them  went  mad  when  he  saw  food,  and  had  to 
be  bound.  They  were  carefully  fed  a  little  at  a  time, 
and  all  recovered.  One  of  the  rescuing  party  who  was 
relating  the  incident  is  not  an  emotional  man,  but  his 
face  worked  as  he  told  me  of  what  to  us  both  seemed 
the  crowning  horror.  As  they  lifted  one  man,  a 
human  finger  fell  from  his  pocket.  He  had  concealed 
it  from  his  fellows,  hoping  by  the  theft  to  prolong  his 
wretched  life  to  the  last.  Such  horrors,  and  they  have 
been  many,  the  stocking  of  the  Aleutians  with  rein- 
deer would  prevent. 

But  to  turn  to  more  cheerful  things,  the  custom 
house  officer  told  me  he  was  breeding  blue  foxes  on  a 
small,  near-by  island.  The  fur  is  now  quite  fashiona- 
ble. The  only  reason  for  calling  them  blue  must  be 
that  advanced  by  Mark  Twain  for  naming  his  dog 
Spot — because  it  hadn't  any  spots.  There  will  yet  be 
money  made  hereabouts  in  such  ventures. 

We  reached  the  ship  late  in  the  day,  tired  almost  to 
imbecility,  but  after  a  most  delightful  experience, 
quite  resigned  to  sailing  in  the  night,  knowing  that 
but  four  more  days  would  bring  us  to  St.  Michael. 

I  wonder  if  a  yachting  trip  among  the  Aleutians  will 
ever  become  fashionable?  I  know  one  thing,  I  should 
hugely  enjoy  one.  Do  you  realize  that  these  giant 
stepping  stones,  peaks  of  a  submerged  mountain  chain 
which  binds  this  continent  to  Asia,  extend  thirty 
degrees  west  of  Hawaii?  The  island  of  Attu,  the  fur- 
thermost of  the  Aleutians,  lies  two  thousand  miles 
west  of  Sitka;  and  San  Francisco  (it  is  hard  to  realize 
it),  is  several  hundred  miles  east  of  the  longitudinal 
center  of  our  great  country,  of  whose  beauty  the  sun 
never  tires. 


CHAPTER  III 

BERING   SEA   AND    ST.    MICHAEL 

After  the  stop  at  Dutch  Harbor  we  quite  recovered 
spirits  and  appetite,  and  at  the  first  turn  of  that  deafen- 
ing wind-up  bell,  there  was  a  general  stampede  to  the 
table.  Sitting  contentedly  on  deck,  neither  thinking  a 
thought  nor  dreaming  a  dream,  just  soaking  up  sun- 
shine, I  began  to  feel  that  sailors  were  not  so  idiotic, 
after  all.  Leaning  idly  over  the  rail,  I  watched  the 
"Portuguese  man-of-war"  fleet  sailing  by  like  a  faery 
armada,  just  as  eager,  tiny  vessels,  to  reach  their  des- 
tination as  we  are.  They  consider  it  fully  as  impor- 
tant, too,  and  mayhap  it  is.  Dark  at  the  bottom, 
shaped  exactly  like  the  ship  which  suggested  their 
name,  they  cover  the  sea  in  numbers  far  exceeding  all 
the  barks  afloat.  Fearlessly  each  tiny  ship  of  pearl 
spreads  its  white  sail  to  the  wind  and,  with  the  great 
Pilot  of  All  Seas  to  guide,  "sails  the  unshadowed 
main."  How  the  jellyfish  glow  in  the  sun!  Taken 
aboard,  their  colors  fade  and  they  shrivel  under  your 
curious  eye.  When  shall  we  learn  to  be  content  to 
enjoy  beauty  without  vainly  seeking  to  make  it  our 
very  own?  I  once  saw  a  man  holding  a  delicate  flower 
and  roughly  and  greedily  seizing  upon  its  perfume. 
But  the  flower  feared  him,  and  resented  his  violence, 
so  she  drooped  her  fair  head,  and  her  breath  failed. 
"Bah,"  he  said,  "the  scent's  quite  gone;  how  these 
silly  things  fade ! ' '  and  he  flung  the  flower  into  the  dust 
and  set  his  heel  upon  it.  I  hated  him,  and  my  glance 
involuntarily  fell  upon  his  wife's  pale  face.  He  had 

treated  her  as  he  had  done  the  flower.    Her  bloom  was 

27 


28          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

gone  and  her  spirit  broken.  He  had  flung  her  into  the 
dust,  too,  but  the  "silly  thing"  lived  on,  more's  the  pity. 

Then  the  whales!  like  a  child  I  watched  them  by  the 
hour  as  they  spouted  in  the  distance,  speculating  where 
next  their  fountains  would  play  in  the  sun,  beautiful  as 
those  of  Versailles,  laughing  as  they  occasionally  stood 
on  their  heads  and  flapped  their  great  tails  in  clumsy 
sport,  and  counting  the  4  *  school. ' '  What  indeed  do  they 
learn  in  this  school?  Deep  sea  navigation,  of  course; 
the  hidden  haunts  and  habits  of  the  sea-serpent,  the 
location  of  new  islands  which  rise  hissing  from  the  sea's 
depths,  and  the  disappearance  of  others  from  the  light 
of  day  into  the  darkness  of  watery  abysses ;  also  the 
facts  about  the  polar  sea.  Oh,  the  whales  know  a  thing 
or  two  we  mortals  might  be  glad  to  learn.  In  attend- 
ance upon  them  are  the  pretty  little  whale  birds,  their 
private  secretaries,  whose  business  it  is  to  keep  off  the 
parasites  which  torment  these  lords  of  the  deep,  just 
as  they  do  other  great  people.  I  saw  an  albatross,  too, 
bird  as  immortal  as  the  Phcenix  since  the  Ancient 
Mariner  told  his  grewsome  tale.  And  I  saw  several 
sea  parrots,  duck-size,  body  unbroken  black,  with  bril- 
liant, scarlet  feet  and  beak.  The  cock  has  pale  yellow 
aigrette  tufts  at  the  side  of  his  head.  These  parrots 
are  said  to  come  from  Japan.  Their  flesh  is  eaten, 
like  almost  anything,  by  the  Eskimos,  while  further 
inland  the  beaks  are  prized  for  trimming  ceremonial 
dancing  aprons. 

We  entered  the  ice  fields  and  slowly  steamed  in  and 
out  among  the  bergs  of  glistening  white,  whose  crags 
here  and  there  act  as  prisms  forming  gorgeous  colors. 
All  so  brilliant  is  it,  under  the  bright  sun  that  one's 
eyes  were  almost  dazzled  to  see  the  seals  basking 
themselves  on  the  ice,  their  wet  coats  part  of  the  uni- 
versal glare.  They  watched  us  curiously  till  prudence 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          29 

suggested  flight,  and  they  wriggled  awkwardly  but 
rapidly  down,  and  sliding  into  the  sea,  glided  about 
gracefully,  coming  up  often  very  near  the  ship  and 
darting  away  again. 

Two  hundred  and  twenty-two  miles  north  of  Un- 
alaska,  but  west  of  our  course,  lie  the  Priboloff  Seal 
Islands,  which,  with  the  surrounding  waters,  furnish 
almost  all  this  much-prized  fur  to  commerce.  The 
islands  have  long  been  leased  by  the  United  States  to 
the  North  American  Commercial  Company,  and  the 
revenue  since  1870  has  more  than  reimbursed  this 
country  for  the  amount  paid  for  all  Alaska.  These 
two  islands,  St.  Paul  and  St.  George,  each  has  a  school 
supported  by  the  company  for  the  Aleuts  and  ninety- 
eight  per  cent  of  the  children  attend.  No  one  may  put 
foot  on  these  little  islands  without  special  permission 
from  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  there  is  no  pas- 
senger vessel,  so  that  one  must  reach  them  by  revenue 
cutter.  No  wonder,  touching  at  such  lands,  presenting 
fortunes  in  furs,  the  Russians  and  others  should  have 
gone  crazy  upon  the  return  of  Vitus  Bering,  who,  in 
1741,  explored  this  sea.  Thousands  of  people  em- 
barked in  even  crazier  crafts  that  those  pressed  into 
this  present  search  for  the  golden  fleece,  more  than 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  after. 

As  we  neared  St.  Michael's  Island,  we  could  plainly 
see  the  largest  island  of  Bering  Sea,  St.  Lawrence,  the 
scene  of  a  tragedy  in  1878.  Starvation  and  pestilence 
carried  off  the  entire  population  of  400.  When  the 
revenue  cutter  visited  the  island  in  1880,  only  decay- 
ing bodies  and  falling  houses  were  left,  not  one  escaped 
to  tell  the  tale.  A  village  now  stands  on  the  extreme 
northwest  corner,  and  of  it  Dr.  Sheldon  Jackson,  in 
his  "Facts  about  Alaska/'  writes: 

"The  houses  are  from  20  to  50  feet  in  size.     For  a 


30          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

distance  of  five  or  six  feet  above  the  ground  the  walls 
are  built  of  driftwood,  whalebone,  or  timbers  and 
planks  from  shipwrecked  vessels.  These  are  placed  on 
end,  side  by  side,  forming  an  inclosure  in  a  circular  or 
oblong  form.  The  cracks  between  these  planks  are 
stuffed  with  moss.  The  rafters  are  covered  with 
walrus  and  seal  skins,  forming  the  roof.  Some  roofs 
are  in  the  shape  of  a  cone  and  others  of  a  dome.  The 
interior  is  partitioned  off  around  the  sides  with  deer- 
skin curtains,  forming  sleeping  apartments.  All 
around,  inside  and  outside,  are  filth,  dirt,  sleds,  spears, 
snowshoes  and  household  utensils.  The  houses  and 
tents  are  located  with  no  reference  to  order  or  street 
lines.  The  sleds  are  shod  with  bone.  On  a  few  small 
ones,  the  whole  runner  was  made  of  a  walrus  tusk.  If 
the  building  is  a  very  large  one  there  is  a  row  of  sup- 
porting poles  on  each  side,  midway  between  the  center 
and  sides.  Over  the  rafter  poles  are  stretched  walrus 
hides.  These  are  held  in  position  by  rawhide  ropes, 
attached  to  which  and  hanging  down  the  sides  of  the 
building  are  the  vertebrae  of  whales,  large  stones,  and 
old  iron  from  shipwrecked  vessels.  This  anchorage 
both  stretches  the  skins  and  prevents  them  from  being 
blown  off.  These  skins,  being  translucent,  let  in  a 
great  deal  of  light.  There  are  no  windows  in  the 
house,  and  but  a  small  opening,  about  two  and  a  half 
feet  above  the  ground,  for  a  door.  Fire,  when  they 
have  any,  is  made  on  the  dirt  floor  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  Each  building  is  occupied  by  several  families. 
Near  the  house  is  a  scaffold,  made  of  posts  of  the  jaw 
bones  of  the  whale.  These  are  seven  to  ten  feet  high 
and  ten  feet  wide.  On  these  are  placed  the  skin  boats, 
harness  of  the  dogs,  meat,  etc. ,  so  as  to  be  out  of  the 
reach  of  dogs.  Upon  one  of  these,  attached  to  the 
whalebone  cross-beam,  was  a  child's  swing,  made  of 
walrus  rope. 

* '  I  saw  several  excavations  where  underground  houses 
had  once  been,  and  one  such  house  still  standing  with 
the  roof  partially  fallen  in.  The  sides  were  composed 
of  walrus  skulls  laid  up  like  a  stone  wall.  In  this 
house  were  some  corpses,  together  with  the  spear, 
arrowheads  and  personal  belongings  of  the  dead. 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          31 

"Passing  from  house  to  house  I  was  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  dirty  but  bright-looking  children.  From  the 
eldest  to  the  child  which  was  just  able  to  talk  they 
asked  for  tobacco,  which  is  used  by  both  sexes  and  all 
ages,  down  to  the  nursing  child.  Five  little  girls,  from 
four  to  ten  years  of  age,  gave  a  native  dance.  They 
commenced  with  a  swinging  motion  of  the  body  from 
side  to  side,  throwing  their  weight  alternately  upon 
each  foot.  This  was  accompanied  by  an  explosive 
grunt  or  squeak,  as  if  the  air  was  being  violently  ex- 
pelled from  the  lungs.  As  they  warmed  up  they 
whirled  around,  writhed  and  twisted  their  bodies  and 
distorted  their  faces  into  all  manner  of  shapes  and  ex- 
pressions, until  they  would  fall  down  with  dizziness." 

Not  far  north  of  St.  Lawrence  is  King's  Island,  con- 
taining a  population  of  about  200,  one  of  the  strangest 
settlements  in  the  world.  They  are  cave  dwellers. 
Quoting  from  the  same  interesting  pamphlet  of  Dr. 
Jackson : 

"The  island  is  a  great  mass  of  basalt  rock,  about  a 
mile  in  length,  rising  from  the  sea  with  perpendicular 
sides  from  700  to  1,000  feet  above  the  water.  On  the 
south  side  the  wall  is  broken  down  by  a  ravine  rising 
at  an  angle  of  45  degrees,  and  is  filled  with  loose  rock. 
A  great  permanent  snow  bank  fills  the  ravine  from  the 
bottom  to  the  top  of  the  mountain.  On  the  west  side 
of  the  snow  is  the  village  of  Ouk-ivak,  which  consists 
of  some  40  dwellings  or  underground  houses,  partly 
excavated  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  built  up  with 
stone  walls.  Across  the  top  of  these  walls  are  large 
poles  made  from  the  driftwood  that  is  caught  floating 
around  the  island.  Upon  these  are  placed  hides  and 
grass,  which  are  in  turn  covered  with  dirt.  A  low 
tunnel  or  dirt-covered  hall  way,  10  to  15  feet  long,  leads 
directly  under  the  center  of  the  dwelling.  This  is  so 
low  that  it  is  necessary  to  stoop  and  often  creep  in 
entering.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  directly  overhead  is 
a  hole  about  18  inches  in  diameter.  This  is  the  en- 
trance to  the  dwelling  above.  Frequently  in  summer, 
these  caves  become  too  damp  to  live  in.  The  people 
then  erect  a  summer  house  upon  the  top  of  the  winter 


32          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

one.  The  summer  house  consists  of  walrus  hides, 
stretched  over  a  wooden  frame,  making  a  room  from 
10  to  15  feet  square.  These  summer  houses  are  guyed 
to  rocks  with  rawhide  ropes,  to  prevent  them  from 
being  blown  off  into  the  sea.  The  entrance  is  an  oval 
hole  in  the  walrus  hide,  about  two  feet  above  the  floor. 
Outside  of  the  door  is  a  narrow  platform  about  two  feet 
wide,  leading  back  to  the  side  of  the  hill.  Some  of 
these  platforms  are  from  15  to  20  feet  above  the  roofs 
of  the  huts  below  them.  Across  the  ravine  from  the 
village,  at  the  base  of  the  perpendicular  sides  of  the 
island  is  a  cave,  into  the  mouth  of  which  the  surf 
dashes  and  roars.  At  the  back  of  the  cave  is  a  large 
bank  of  perpetual  snow.  This  cave  is  the  storehouse 
of  the  whole  village.  Walrus  and  seal  meat  is  stored 
away  in  rooms  excavated  in  the  snow.  As  the  tempera- 
ture in  the  cave  never  rises  above  freezing  point,  meat 
so  stored  soon  freezes  solid  and  keeps  indefinitely." 

It  is  but  2,500  miles  from  Seattle  to  St.  Michael's, 
yet  with  the  only  vessels  obtainable  for  the  unexpected 
rush,  the  voyage  took  fourteen  and  a  half  days.  It 
was  a  beautiful  evening  which  brought  us  in  view  of 
St.  Michael  across  the  placid  waters  of  Norton  Sound, 
but  it  was  just  midnight  as  we  cast  anchor.  Low  dis- 
tant hills  were  bathed  in  an  amethyst  light,  the  sun 
had  set  but  a  little  time  before  and  several  of  the  pas- 
sengers were  writing  letters  dated  "Midnight,"  for  in 
the  summer  at  this  latitude  there  is  no  darkness.  Just 
without  the  harbor  is  a  curious  little  island  which 
strongly  resembles,  as  you  approach  it  by  ship,  a  large 
scow  with  a  load  of  hay  and  a  man  standing  in  front. 
Sea  vessels  cannot  land  there,  and  all  goods  must  be 
lightered  a  mile  off  shore,  in  fact  there  is  not  a  good 
harbor  on  the  western  coast  of  Alaska.  We  stayed 
aboard  ship,  for  the  large  hotel  since  erected  by  the 
North  American  Trading  and  Transportation  Company 
was  then  but  just  begun,  going  ashore  by  the  river 
boat  which  took  off  the  freight,  by  the  company's  steam 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.   MICHAEL          33 

launch,  or  the  swift  little  "Cub,"  steam  launch  from 
the  Bear,  which  was  anchored  further  out.  The  island 
is  about  fifteen  miles  long,  rising  from  the  sea  by 
gradual  slope  to  mountains  in  the  distance,  among 
which  there  are  said  to  be  extinct  volcanoes.  It  is  an 
upheaval  of  lava,  and  is  covered  with  peat  to  the  depth 
of  from  two  feet  to  fifteen.  In  other  parts  of  Alaska 
a  geologist  says  this  peat  extends  from  150  to  300  feet 
down.  Vegetation  grows  rankly  on  top  of  this  rich 
deposit  and  decay  is  arrested  by  freezing.  If  the 
summer  were  not  so  short  this  peat,  cut  as  in  Ireland 
and  dried  in  the  sun,  would  make  the  best  of  slow 
fuel.  As  it  is,  the  hot  summer  sun  simply  thaws  the 
surface  for  a  few  inches,  or  at  most  a  couple  of  feet, 
and  converts  the  tundras  into  bogs  over  which  it  is 
difficult  to  walk  anywhere  without  sinking  into  the 
black  mire.  In  many  places  the  trails  to  the  mines 
are  all  but  impassable  for  this  reason.  At  every  step 
the  burdened  miner  sinks  to  his  knees  or  higher  in  the 
heavy  mud. 

St.  Michael's  has  a  narrow  curving  beach  of  pow- 
dered lava  as  black  as  coal  dust.  Lava  rocks  are  scat- 
tered over  it  and  a  low  bluff  covered  with  deep  grass 
and  gay  with  wild  flowers  rises  behind  it.  Among  these 
were  a  sort  of  blue  bell  with  a  perfume  like  cherry 
blossoms  and  a  curious  silky  tuft  like  a  faery  paint 
brush.  The  stems  of  all  Alaska  flowers  seem  pipey, 
and  they  easily  part  from  the  soil. 

Following  the  beach  from  Fort  Get  There,  the  North 
American  Trading  and  Transportation  Company's  post, 
it  is  perhaps  a  mile  to  the  town  of  St.  Michael  which 
was  founded  by  the  Russians  in  1835.  One  of  the 
block  houses  erected  at  that  time  from  logs  brought 
from  Sitka  still  stands,  and  the  little  cannon  from  it 
now  points  out  to  sea  under  the  flagmast  on  the  bluff. 


34  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

Here  stands  the  little  Greek  church.  One  Sunday  when 
I  was  at  St.  Michael  I  attended  service  there.  It  was 
conducted  by  a  Russian  priest  from  up  the  river,  for  they 
have  no  regular  minister  here.  Father  Orloff  read  the 
service  devoutly  and  never  was  there  apparently  a  more 
devout  congregation.  The  Eskimo  women  were  in 
gala  attire,  clean  calicoes  with  the  gayest  of  silk  hand- 
kerchiefs over  their  heads,  and  the  children  were 
tricked  out  like  little  animated  crazy  quilts,  bits  of 
every  obtainable  material,  if  only  bright  in  hue,  being 
sewed  to  their  gowns.  Like  all  native  children  they 
were  quiet  and  showed  not  a  moment's  uneasiness. 
The  men  seemed  proud  of  being  conversant  with  the 
service.  It  was  an  odd  sight,  which  I  enjoyed.  Part 
of  the  church  was  cut  off  by  a  screen  covered  with 
wallpaper,  blue,  with  stars  of  Christmas  tinsel  pasted 
on.  The  acolytes,  I  suppose  you  would  call  them, 
were  men  in  drill  parkas,  none  too  clean,  and  as  they 
sung  the  responses  worshipfully  and  with  sweet  voices, 
they  scratched  with  one  accord.  For,  though  in  con- 
nection with  a  church  service  it  hardly  seems  suitable 
to  speak  of  this,  every  Alaskan  native  is,  to  put  it  deli- 
cately, the  center  of  a  busy  community.  It  would 
probably  be  revengeful  satisfaction  to  the  native  if  he 
knew  that  Addison  says,  "A  very  ordinary  telescope 
shows  us  that  a  louse  is  itself  a  very  lousy  creature. ' ' 

Speaking  of  scratching  reminds  me  of  the  mosquitoes. 
I  do  not  expect  to  do  justice  to  the  subject,  for  nothing 
but  the  most  profane  language,  long  and  loud,  could 
do  that.  From  the  first  thaw  under  the  spring  sun 
till  the  very  end  of  the  summer,  these  rapacious 
insects  rule  the  air.  They  are  fearless,  ferocious,  and 
omnipresent.  Many  old  residents  told  me  that  because 
of  the  mosquitoes  they  really  preferred  the  long,  dark, 
terrible  winter.  These  pests  kill  huge  bears,  stinging 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          35 

them  about  the  eyes  till  they  lie  helplessly  down, 
unable  to  find  food,  and  perish.  Nothing  keeps  them 
off.  Several  of  us  had  unguents  which  we  had  be- 
lieved infallible,  but  they  proved  to  be  the  most  appetiz- 
ing of  sauces  with  their  steady  diet, — us.  The  only 
thing  we  didn't  try  was  a  thick  coat  of  tar  and  lard, 
which  a  woodsman  has  since  told  me  no  mosquito  can 
abide — however,  I  don't  think  I  could  either.  Kill  one 
and  such  a  congregation  gathers  for  the  funeral  that 
it's  lost  time.  They  seem  to  slight  Indians  for  the 
more  dainty  white  meat,  and  they  prefer  the  young 
and  fair — I  was  badly  bitten.  One  poor  little  child 
wore  a  bracelet  of  bites,  each  as  large  as  a  bean,  and 
another's  face  was  discolored  all  over,  with  one  eye 
entirely  closed  by  their  stings.  At  St.  Michael  one  of 
the  men  was  so  badly  poisoned  by  the  mosquitoes  that 
he  was  driven  into  fever.  Afterward,  on  the  Yukon 
boat,  while  in  mid-stream,  it  wasn't  so  bad,  but  when- 
ever we  stopped  to  wood  they  swarmed  aboard, 
covered  the  screens  till  they  were  black,  singing  the 
Marseillaise  in  the  most  bloodthirsty  way.  They  dashed 
in  after  you  when  you  opened  the  screen  doors  and 
cached  themselves  in  the  state  -rooms  until  such  time 
as  you  tried  to  sleep.  When  adjusting  my  camera, 
they  would  gleefully  cover  my  poor  hands.  I  have 
located  members  of  the  party  who  were  hidden  in  the 
tall  grass,  by  halos  of  mosquitoes  encircling  their 
heads,  filled,  I  doubt  not,  with  most  unsaintly  thoughts 
by  reason  of  these  very  clouds  of  witnesses.  One  of 
the  sufferers  insists  that  they  bite  before  they  light. 

The  natives  of  Alaska  are  natural  actors,  and  their 
dances,  held  during  the  long  winter  night,  commemo- 
rate various  things.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  mos- 
quito pest  should  be  one  of  these.  I  remember  to  have 
seen  this  danced  at  the  World's  Columbian  Exposition 


36          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

by  the  Indians  of  the  coast  about  Sitka,  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  Spanish  Infanta.  As  usual,  the  Indians 
divided  into  two  parties,  each  with  a  leader.  At  a 
grunt  from  him,  one  group  began  to  scratch  and  wrig- 
gle and  shrug  with  amusing  fidelity.  After  exhausting 
their  resources  of  mimicry,  the  other  leader  signaled 
for  his  party  to  out-do  the  first.  One  Indian,  I  re- 
member, fairly  shone  among  the  all-star  aggregation, 
and  as  he  flung  himself  in  seeming  desperation  upon  the 
ground  at  the  Infanta's  feet  to  crush  the  varmints, 
Eulalia  laughed  till  she  cried. 

Some  who  had  come  to  Alaska  without  mosquito 
netting  went  about  like  the  foolish  virgins  of  old  try- 
ing to  buy,  but  there  was  but  little  in  the  stores,  and 
that  was  soon  gone  at  fifty  cents  a  yard,  which  was  the 
price  of  thin  cheese-cloth.  Bombazine  or  sleazy  cheese- 
cloth is  best,  made  into  a  curious  bird-cagey  affair  with 
a  puckering  string.  Several  had  bought  colored  ones 
of  sportsman's  outfitters  in  the  States.  One  was  green, 
one  bright  orange,  and  one  an  ear-splitting  magenta. 
In  these  cages  we  were  a  sight  for  gods  and  men. 
They  hurt  our  eyes,  spoiled  our  tempers,  and  heated 
our  blood,  for  it  was  now  87°  in  the  shade.  So  at  last 
most  of  us  abjured  the  hideous  things,  and  with  a 
leafy  branch  in  each  hand,  as  if  it  were  perpetual  Palm 
Sunday,  went  our  unquiet  way.  Repose  of  manner  is 
absolutely  impossible  on  the  Yukon  in  mosquito  time. 
At  first  we  rubbed  our  irritated  bodies  warily,  but 
bless  you,  everybody  scratches  in  Alaska.  People 
stand  talking,  rubbing  one  foot  with  the  other  without 
either  person's  even  noticing  it.  The  mosquitoes  bite 
through  heavy  cloth  and  even  shoe  leather.  The  best 
contrivance  I  saw  for  bodily  protection  against  these 
infamous  mosquitoes  —  you  would  not  consider  my 
language  strong  if  you  had  summered  with  them  in 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          37 

Alaska — was  one  that  many  of  the  old  miners  wore. 
It  could  be  cheaply  bought  here,  though  on  the  Yukon 
it  costs  five  dollars.  A  thin,  narrow  collar,  buttoned  like 
a  corset  steel,  from  which  several  similar  bands  crossed 
over  to  form  a  cage  about  a  foot  high.  The  net  is 
thrown  over  this  and  tied.  The  advantage'  is  that  a 
man  can  not  only  work  in  this  contrivance,  but  sleep 
in  it ;  as  the  head  lies  between  the  slats  and  the  cage 
bounces  away  from  the  face,  giving  air.  Windows  and 
doors  in  Alaska  are  covered  with  net,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  to  confine  the  pesky  things  within  rather  than 
keep  them  out.  Nowhere  else  do  you  so  realize  that 
there  is  no  rest  for  the  wicked,  and  that  all  men  are 
sinners.  Even  night  time  brings  no  relief,  for  darkness 
never  comes  till  the  last  mosquito  has  gone  into  winter 
quarters.  Such  a  funny  thing  happened  at  St.  Michael. 
One  newcomer  hung  a  bright  red  mosquito  net  over 
his  bed  in  his  tent.  It  rained  in  the  night,  and  when 
he  awakened  he  screamed  for  help,  thinking  he  had 
been  murdered  in  his  sleep  and  was  weltering  in  his 
own  gore.  After  the  mosquitoes  have  done  their 
worst,  small  black  gnats  take  a  hand,  or  rather  a  bill, 
which  bills  are  hooked.  Though  not,  mercifully,  so 
plentiful  as  mosquitoes,  these  gnats  are  industrious, 
and  pinch  like  poverty. 

The  Indians  account  for  the  mosquitoes  thus :  Once 
upon  a  time  there  was  a  great  big  wicked  spirit  in  the 
form  of  an  enormous  spider,  which  would  swoop  down 
upon  men  and  suck  both  spirit  and  life  blood  from 
their  breasts,  leaving  their  bodies  empty  shells,  like 
those  of  the  flies  the  earth-spider  sucks.  Men  suffered 
long  without  relief  from  this  wicked  spirit,  until  their 
cries  aroused  the  sympathy  of  a  good  spirit,  who 
promised  to  rid  them  of  the  demon.  So  the  good 
spirit  built  a  huge  fire  and  pushed  the  wicked  spirit 


38          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

into  it.  Being  immortal,  he  could  not  be  wholly  de- 
stroyed, but  he  shriveled,  and  shriveled,  and  shriveled, 
until,  as  a  tiny  insect,  unregarded  he  escaped  from  the 
fire,  and  has  ever  since  enjoyed  tormenting  people. 
Insultingly  he  sings  as  he  stings,  then  lays  upon  the 
tiny  wound  an  infinitesimal  coal  from  the  fire  in  which 
he  had  suffered. 

I  started  one  day  to  go  over  to  the  native  village, 
and  as  I  stumbled  along  the  damp  ground  and  through 
the  long  grass,  escorted  by  clouds  of  mosquitoes  and 
yet  thoroughly  enjoying  the  novelty  of  it  all,  I  met  a 
witty  woman  who,  with  her  husband,  is  now  buried 
alive  in  Circle  City.  Uncertain  of  the  direction,  I 
asked  it  of  her.  "Go  just  a  little  further  in  this  path," 
she  said,  "and  then  follow  your  nose.  The  stockyards  is 
white  rose  to  that  smell. "  And  it  was  so.  A  few  steps 
brought  me  to  the  edge  of  the  slope,  fully  half  a  mile 
away,  and  the  strength  of  the  odor  which  assailed  my 
nostrils  from  those  few  huts  was  mighty  as  all  the 
perfumes  of  Araby,  but  resembled  them  in  no  wise 
else.  Each  "house"  contained  but  one  room,  which 
was  something  to  be  thankful  for,  and  its  roof  of  peat, 
often  growing  green  and  gay  with  flowers,  was  the 
family  garret  whereupon  were  stored  dog-sleds,  snow- 
shoes,  drying  pelts,  etc.  Somewhat  back  from  the 
hamlet  were  graves,  which  did  not  smell  quite  so  bad. 
They  were  piled  with  driftwood,  which  was  hung  with 
old  kettles,  wooden  bowls,  and  other  treasures. 

When  I  returned  to  St.  Michael,  I  met  Father  Bar- 
num,  and  stopped  for  a  talk.  He  is  delightful  com- 
pany, and  so  full  of  information  that  one  cannot  be 
with  him  for  five  minutes  without  learning  something. 
He  is  small,  slight,  with  an  intellectual,  refined  face, 
smiling  but  rather  cynical  in  expression.  Father  Bar- 
num  is  of  the  well  known  Baltimore  family  whose 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          39 

ancestors  came  to  this  country  in  1629,  so  he  is 
thoroughly  American  if  a  Jesuit.  His  family  are 
Protestants,  and  did  protest  vehemently  against  his 
entering  the  priesthood,  to  which  he  is  said  to  have 
brought  a  great  fortune.  He  has  been  in  Alaska  seven 
years,  taking  long  sledge  rides  through  the  bitter 
weather  when  it  is  impossible  to  wash  or  change  his 
clothes,  returning  to  his  lonely  shack  covered  with 
vermin.  He  insists  he  is  happy  and  content — and  he 
ought  to  know,  but  he  looks  as  if  he  would  be  more  in 
place  in  the  luxurious  library  of  his  old  home  down 
South,  flashing  his  ready  wit  at  dinner  parties  and 
controlling  affairs.  Father  Barnum  has  a  large  and 
valuable  collection  of  ancient  stone  implements 
gathered  in  Alaska. 

I  met  Mr.  Inglestadt,  a  huge,  brawny  Norwegian, 
the  picture  of  a  viking  of  old.  His  blue  eyes  have 
looked  undaunted  upon  dangers  and  exposures  in  many 
lands.  He  and  Nansen  were  school  boys  together. 
Mr.  Inglestadt  speaks  Eskimo,  so  he  succeeded  in 
obtaining  for  Mrs.  Beiler  a  labret  from  the  cheek  of 
an  aged  man  who  came  up  just  then.  The  poor  old 
fellow  had  never  been  pretty,  but  with  one  empty  eye 
socket,  and  the  hideous  hole  in  his  cheek  from  which 
he  had  removed  the  labret,  he  was  something  horrible. 
Asked  how  he  lost  his  eye,  it  was  needless  for  Mr. 
Inglestadt  to  translate  his  reply,  for  a  significant 
gesture  told  us  that  it  had  been  gouged  out  by  a  man's 
thumb  during  a  quass  reign.  These  labrets  are 
curious  things,  still  very  largely  worn  by  natives 
further  north  and  in  retired  places.  "Labret"  is 
from  the  Latin  labium,  lip,  but  in  fact  it  is  more 
often  worn  through  the  cheek.  Sometimes  there  are 
two  or  three.  They  are  generally  made  of  stone, 
jade,  or  slate,  but  sometimes  of  walrus  or  mammoth 


40  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

ivory,  crystal,  or  coal — a  black-diamond  stud,  so  to 
speak.  Lea  &  Perrin  obtain  free  and  novel  living 
advertisements  and  an  incontrovertible  testimony  to 
the  wide  spread  use  of  their  Worcestershire  sauce  in 
an  occasional  Esquimo  wearing  one  of  their  glass 
stoppers,  the  name  plainly  discernible,  thrust  through 
his  yellow  face.  I  saw  two  natives  thus  beautified. 
When  a  labret  is  removed,  it  leaves  a  sickening  hole 
like  another  mouth.  This  explains  the  tale  of  an 
ancient  traveler  that  the  natives  of  these  Arctic  regions 
had  two  mouths.  In  Southeast  Alaska,  these  labrets 
are  still  commonly  worn,  especially  by  women.  Every- 
where in  Alaska  tattoo  marks  are  usual  and  to  the 
initiated  indicate  age  and  caste. 

At  St.  Michael,  one  of  the  company  official's  wives 
invited  me  into  her  house,  the  unmistakable  abode  of  a 
lady,  the  world  over.  Photographs,  wild  flowers  upon 
the  table,  ingenious  contrivances  for  making  the  best 
of  things,  were  there.  I  noted  a  wooden  peg  in  the  wall. 
'Twas  for  ventilation.  The  wind  blows  fiercely  at  St. 
Michael  in  the  winter  and  is  so  bitterly  cold  that  rooms 
are  aired  in  a  moment  in  this  way.  This  lady,  who 
was  young  and  pretty,  with  the  Englishwoman's  sweet 
voice,  expected  to  be  the  only  white  woman  in  St. 
Michael  and  for  a  long  distance  thereabout  during  the 
winter  of  eight  long^  weary  months.  "But,"  said  she 
cheerily,  "I  paint  and  embroider  and  enjoy  sledding 
and  skating  and  snow-shoeing,  and  I  shan't  be  one  bit 
lonely."  There's  a  pioneer  for  you! 

Thinking  of  all  this,  I  passed  down  the  little  street 
which  was  decorated,  as  for  some  queer  festival,  with 
hundreds  of  marten  skins  hanging  in  festoons  to  dry, 
stopped  to  wonder  over  the  great  mammoth's  tusks 
near  the  store,  and  met  cheery  Mr.  Andreas,  the  cus- 
toms inspector.  He  was  just  rejoicing  over  the  arrival 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST,  MICHAEL          41 

of  his  newspapers.  He  subscribes  for  several,  and 
has  the  whole  year  sent  up  at  once.  "Then,"  said  he, 
1  *  I  arrange  them  carefully  in  proper  order  and  read  my 
newspaper  every  morning  after  breakfast  on  the  right 
day  of  the  month,  only  a  year  old.  In  this  way  I  get 
my  news  consecutively  and  enjoy  a  morning  paper  all 
through  the  winter,  for  I  don't  allow  myself  to  read 
ahead.  You  don't  know  what  company  it  is  and  how 
civilized  I  feel. ' '  Mr.  Andreas  has  been  at  St.  Michael 
for  four  years. 

That  night  a  number  of  4tkiaks"  came  about  the 
ship,  their  occupants  bringing  fish  and  curios  for  sale. 
These  long,  narrow  boats  are  very  much  pointed  and 
easily  overturned.  A  light  frame  is  covered  with  seal- 
skin with  the  hair  removed.  The  occupant  uses  one 
paddle,  changing  it  rapidly  from  hand  to  hand.  A 
man  will  often  emerge  from  the  hole,  after  him  his 
wife,  who  had  been  stretched  out  in  one  end  of  the 
almost  air-tight  boat,  and  two  or  three  children  from 
the  other  end.  The  Eskimos  are  very  economical 
with  air,  and  there  is  plenty  of  it  in  Alaska.  They 
handle  these  kiaks  in  a  marvelous  way,  riding  them  far 
out  to  sea  when  a  life-boat  would  not  risk  the  tossing 
waves.  No  Eskimo  child  seems  too  young  not  to  have 
already  learned  to  paddle  the  tippy  things.  Our 
ancestors  of  Britain  dared  the  sea  in  boats  almost  identi- 
cal, having  tough  willow  frames  covered  with  bullock- 
hide. 

These  kiaks  are  fitted  out  with  numerous  hunting 
spears,  harpoons,  and  fishing  tackle,  each  thrust  through 
its  appropriate  thong  on  the  outside  of  the  light  craft. 
The  Eskimo  are  famous  hunters  of  whale  and  seal, 
and  there  isn't  a  part  as  big  as  your  hand  of  either 
animal  that  they  do  not  utilize.  The  whales  near  St. 
Michael  are  mostly  belugas  or  hump-backs.  Further 


42  THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

north  the  "Greenland"  whale  flourishes,  from  one  of 
which  is  often  taken  two  tons  of  the  baleen  or  whale- 
bone which  furnishes  his  huge  mouth.  This  whale- 
bone forms  a  sieve  to  strain  and  retain  the  small  crus- 
taceans that  afford  him  his  food,  for  the  whale's  throat 
is  very  small.  This  whalebone  has  hair-like  fibers. 
These  are  used  for  paint  brushes.  The  blubber  is 
found  under  the  whale,  serving  to  lighten  his  weight, 
keep  him  warm,  and  afford  him  an  air  cushion  when 
he  suddenly  drops  himself  into  deep  water.  This 
blubber  is  one  or  two  feet  thick,  fibrous,  and  contain- 
ing the  oil  so  valuable  in  commerce.  There  is  some- 
times thirty  tons  of  it  on  a  single  whale.  Whales  seem 
peaceful  sort  of  things,  except  when  harpooned,  but 
they  suffer  dreadfully  from  parasites.  Molluscs 
adhere  to  their  backs,  crustaceans  feed  upon  them, 
another  imbeds  itself  in  the  flesh  and  eats  it,  while  the 
whale-louse  sometimes  cover  the  poor  things  so  closely 
that  they  look  actually  white.  Whales  have  been  found 
with  almost  the  entire  epidermis  eaten  off  by  these 
lice. 

Eskimo,  by  the  way,  is  an  insulting  name  that  the 
natives  never  apply  to  themselves.  It  means  "raw- 
fish  eater."  They  call  themselves  "  Innuit,"  which 
means  "our  people."  The  Innuit  inhabit  the  whole 
coast  of  Alaska  from  the  islands  of  the  Arctic  Ocean 
along  Bering  Sea  and  down  the  peninsula  as  far  as 
Mount  St.  Elias,  with  only  the  exception  of  a  short 
distance  about  Cook's  Inlet  and  Copper  River,  where 
the  Indians  have  asserted  themselves.  These  Innuit 
are  larger  that  their  Greenland  and  Labrador  brethren. 
They  are  sometimes  six  feet  tall.  They  have  yellow 
skins,  twinkling  black  eyes,  thick  lips,  high  cheek  bones 
and  coarse  hair,  much  resembling  the  Chinese.  In 
the  narrow  strait  which  separates  North  America  from 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.   MICHAEL          43 

Asia,  only  forty-six  miles  away,  are  the  Diomede 
Islands.  Three  hundred  Innuit  live  upon  them. 
Here  Russia's  possessions  lie  but  two  miles  from  our 
own,  for  to  that  country  belongs  the  largest  island  of 
the  group. 

At  St.  Michael  there  are  a  number  of  Eskimo  carv- 
ers in  ivory,  who  are  already  driving  quite  a  trade 
among  returning  miners,  who  buy  their  "curios"  at 
big  prices.  They  use  the  walrus  ivory,  purchasing  the 
tusks  at  fifty  and  seventy-five  cents  a  pound  of  the 
officers  and  crews  of  the  revenue  cutters,  who  obtain 
them  in  Siberia  and  of  the  Eskimo  further  North. 
The  walrus  looks  very  fierce  with  these  long  tusks,  but 
the  fact  is  he  uses  them  for  nothing  more  warlike  than 
digging  clams  and  other  shellfish  for  his  food. 

But  now  all  was  excitement  in  the  harbor  of  St. 
Michael.  The  Weare  came  in  like  a  modern  successful 
Argonaut.  It  was  reported  to  have  $1,500,000  aboard 
in  gold  dust.  I  saw  boxes  full  of  it,  so  heavy  that  all 
the  strength  of  my  love  of  money  was  not  enough  to 
move  them  a  hair's  breadth,  though  one  was  offered 
me  if  I  could  "budge  it. " 

Among  the  passengers  were  the  now  well  known 
Berrys.  A  year  before,  Clarence  Berry  and  his  bride 
had  tramped  wearily  over  the  pass,  and  arrived  worn, 
all  but  penniless,  at  Forty  Mile,  only  to  be  discouraged 
by  a  letter  from  Mr.  Berry's  partner  advising  them  not 
to  come  on.  But  it  was  too  late,  they  were  "in,"  also 
"in  for  it,"  they  feared.  They  were  among  the  lucky 
ones  of  Klondike's  first,  and  now  they  were  on  their 
way  back  to  their  home  in  Fresno,  California,  with 
their  golden  treasure,  not  with  anything  like  the 
$100,000  with  which  they  were  credited,  but  still  with 
a  goodly  fortune  and  more  in  the  ground  behind.  Mrs. 
Berry,  instead  of  being  the  delicate  young  girl  depicted 


44          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

in  illustrated  papers,  is  a  tall,  brawny  woman,  strong 
and  determined.  She  had  quarts  of  nuggets  in  cans, 
bottles,  etc. ,  but  she  did  not,  as  reported,  actually  mine 
these,  but  picked  them  up  as  they  lay  amongst  the  pay 
gravel  atop  the  dump.  It  is  rather  a  curious  fact 
about  Clarence  Berry's  grandfather,  who  was  much 
respected  in  his  neighborhood,  that  he  and  his  two 
sons  married  a  mother  and  two  daughters. 

Those  who  did  not  turn  over  their  gold  to  the  com- 
pany for  safe  keeping  were  obliged  to  watch  their 
treasure  closely.  There  were  usually  two,  one  always 
in  the  stateroom.  So  many  have  asked  me,  were  they 
not  wildly  excited?  Not  in  the  least,  many  of  them 
seemed  hardly  gratified  even.  They  looked  tired,  and 
wore  that  subdued  expression,  especially  those  that  had 
been  long  in  the  country,  which  I  afterward  noted  in 
so  many  miners'  faces.  Their  excitement  over  the 
potatoes  we  brought  was  far  greater  than  their  enthu- 
siasm over  their  gold.  They  hadn't  seen  a  potato  for 
over  a  year. 

Eecalling  the  wild  excitement  occasioned  all  over  the 
world  by  this  boatload  who  went  down  on  the  Port- 
land, it  will  be  scarcely  credible  when  I  repeat  that 
there  was  absolutely  no  agitation  over  it  in  Alaska. 
Everywhere  it  was  as  quiet  as  a  deaf  mute  asylum. 
Even  we  soon  lost  the  excitement  which  their  arrival 
occasioned.  I  remember  one  small  incident  which 
partially  explains  this.  One  of  the  Canadian  officials 
was  coming  out  with  his  little  boy.  When  Mrs.  Berry 
was  showing  her  nuggets  this  tot  called  out,  "Div  me 
nud-det,  nud-det. "  The  poor  little  fellow  had  never 
seen  a  toy,  and  the  joys  of  rocking-horses  and  top  boots 
and  *  *  ingines ' '  lay  ahead  of  him.  It  seemed  really 
pitiful  to  me  that  such  a  baby  should  notice  so  paltry 
a  thing  as  babies  reckon  gold.  The  fact  is,  friends, 


BERING  SEA  AND  ST.  MICHAEL          45 

that  in  this  world  we  always  pay  for  what  we  get. 
Nothing  but  salvation  is  free.  Miners  pay,  do  not 
doubt,  pay  heavily,  for  their  gold. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   LITTLE    ESKIMO   TOWN   OF   STEBBINS 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  might  have  posed,  and  in 
sooth  did  pose,  as  the  Vivian  Montmorency  of  many  a 
young  girl's  dream.  He  had  large,  soulful,  appealing 
eyes,  raven  hair,  long  white  hands,  and  a  low  caress- 
ing voice.  His  name  was  Wiggins,  Abijah  Wiggins. 
For  more  years  than  it  is  polite  to  remind  me  of,  I  had 
not  thought  of  him  until  I  spent  several  days  in  a 
little  out-of-the-way  Eskimo  village  last  summer. 
Neither  it  nor  its  inhabitants  recalled  Abijah  because 
they  were  in  the  least  soulful  or  romantic,  but  because, 
being  so  very  primitive,  so  strangely  foreign,  it  seemed 
the  name  of  the  queer  little  hamlet  should  sneeze  with 
k-x-y-z's,  instead  of  which  it  was  Stebbins,  just  plain 
Stebbins.  And  the  utmost  of  my  inquiry  failed  to 
elicit  who  had  been  thus  immortalized. 

Stebbins  cuddles  down  behind  a  rosy  sandstone  rock, 
to  be  sheltered  from  the  piercing  winds  which  blow 
across  Norton  Sound,  and  ambles  down  to  a  little 
sheltered  cove  quite  off  the  line  of  travel,  indicated 
by  Point  Romanoff  there  in  the  distance.  It  is  fifteen 
miles  across  the  island  to  St.  Michael,  over  peat  into 
which  one  sinks  in  many  places  to  his  knees.  The 
Stebbinsites  despise  innovations,  and  "far  from  the 
madding  crowd  pursue  the  even  tenor  of  their  way." 
The  very  idea  of  one  of  those  Eskimo  women,  in  her 
dirty  trousers  and  parka  and  seal  boots,  mingling  in  a 
madding  crowd,  is  irresistibly  funny.  As  a  beauty  at 
a  matinee,  a  small  luncheon,  or  a  brilliant  reception, 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS        47 

she  would  be  a  lamentable  failure,  but  in  her  native 
environment  she  admirably  lives  "the  life  whereunto 
it  hath  pleased  God  to  call"  her,  being  in  so  far  more 
of  a  success  than  most  of  us. 

I  didn't  see  an  idle  person  in  Stebbins,  perhaps 
because  it  was  late  in  the  summer  and  so  much 
remained  to  do  before  the  long  winter's  rest  began. 
From  one  end  of  the  tiny  settlement  to  the  other,  miles 
of  seal  and  walrus  thong  stretched  in  the  sun.  They 
cut  it  as  a  harness-maker  does,  round  and  round,  from 
a  large  stout  skin,  using  wedge-shaped  knives  sharp 
enough  to  shave  thin  paper  with.  They  make  the 
knives  from  bits  of  saws  set  into  handles  of  the  omni- 
present ivory.  Iron  is  not  found  in  Alaska,  and  is 
greatly  prized  by  the  natives,  who  treasure  every  scrap 
of  it  or  of  steel  that  they  find.  This  thong  is  their 
rope,  rivets  and  tackle.  They  make  seines  of  it,  in 
which  they  can  catch  anything  from  an  idea  to  a 
humped -backed  whale.  It  is  simply  marvelous  the 
number  of  uses  to  which  an  Eskimo  puts  seals,  which 
must  have  been  invented  for  their  especial  benefit — of 
course,  I  mean  hair  seals;  everyone  knows  that  the 
fur  seal  was  created  for  the  beautifying  of  lovely 
women  and  to  gain  them  the  envy  of  others  less  for- 
tunate. Seal  hide  is  the  covering  for  their  kiaks,  the 
stomachs  are  tied  at  one  end  and  cocked  for  bags  in 
which  to  keep  the  oil  for  winter  eating ;  the  intestines 
make  windows  and  raincoats,  the  entire  hide  is  used 
as  a  trunk,  or,  simply  tied  up  like  the  ancient  water 
bottles  of  the  Orient,  is  filled  with  oil  as  we  use  bar- 
rels; and  the  scraped  skin  is  made  into  mukluks, 
waterproof  boots,  which  not  only  serve  as  foot-gear 
but  are  eaten,  under  stress  of  imminent  starvation ;  the 
flesh,  salted  down  like  pork,  is  very  much  prized  by 
them,  though,  I,  never  having  approximated  a  meal 


48          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

of  seal  boots,  do  not  even  relish  seal  flesh.  When  the 
skins  are  intended  for  making  kiaks,  they  are  scraped 
and  soaked  in  oil  until  they  swell  and  are  soft,  resem- 
bling tripe,  only  smooth.  I  have  stood  by  the  hour 
watching  the  women  sewing  these  together.  They  lay 
the  greasy  skins  upon  the  ground,  and  place  heavy 
stones  at  the  end  from  which  they  are  sewing.  They 
seat  themselves  flat  upon  the  hide,  and  sew  towards 
them,  making  a  double  seam,  and  using  a  slip  back 
stitch.  They  work  rapidly  and  neatly.  Until 
recently,  Eskimos  used  needles  of  pierced  fish  bones, 
but  now  they  have  the  same  kind  which  Queen  Vic- 
toria plies ;  they  still  keep  them,  though,  in  bone  tubes, 
stopped  at  the  ends  with  wood  and  prettily  carved. 
For  thread  they  use  sinew  in  sewing  their  skins* 
This,  too,  was  softened  by  being  dipped  into  wooden 
bowls  of  oil,  one  of  which  each  woman  had  beside  her. 
The  childhood  of  a  race  is  like  that  of  an  individual. 
Little  ones  do  not  like  to  be  alone  and  work  more 
happily  in  company,  so  with  these  primitive  people. 
All  the  women  sat  together  energetically  sewing  their 
sealskins  while  all  the  children  played  near  by  and 
the  babies  lay  or  sat  upon  the  hides.  They  never 
bother  as  4< civilized"  children  do.  I  hardly  heard 
even  a  whimper  from  one  all  the  while  I  was  in  Alaska, 
and  the  parents  are  almost  invariably  kind  to  their 
children.  I  never  saw  either  Eskimo  or  Indian  child 
whine  and  keep  a  mother  from  her  work.  These  tots 
sat  solemnly  in  the  grease  and  dirt,  having  no  dainty 
clothes  to  soil,  nor  fair  complexion  to  spoil — sat  con- 
tentedly for  hours.  One  of  the  children  was  of  the  size 
of  my  own  little  daughter.  I  stood  them  together,  but 
not  touching,  it  is  needless  to  remark,  and  photo- 
graphed them  against  the  background  of  that  odd  sew- 
ing bee.  I  could  have  cried  over  the  blur  which  was 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS       49 

the  only  result,  but  upon  the  sensitive  plate  of  memory 
its  lines  are  sharp  and  distinct,  and  printed  in  colors  too. 
Serene  was  sweet  and  dainty,  in  a  simple  blue  gown 
the  color  of  her  eyes,  her  long  sunny  curls  fell  about  a 
face  fair  as  a  lily,  and  her  baby  hands  held  a  lady  doll. 
The  other  little  girl  was  attired  in  the  shapeless 
Eskimo  costume  affected,  with  hardly  a  variation,  by 
man,  woman  and  child.  If  ever  she  had  shrunk  from 
soap  and  water,  I'll  swear  it  was  not  that  morning,  and 
her  clothes  were  stiff  with  grease  and  dirt  of  no  recent 
acquisition.  Her  coarse  black  hair  hung  in  two  tails, 
through  her  ears  were  loops  of  something  like  straw — 
some  herb  perhaps ;  from  her  nose  hung  a  blue  glass 
bead  on  a  black  thread,  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  this 
beautiful  doll.  Serene  gazed  at  the  child  with  absorb- 
ing interest,  and  said  wonderingly,  "Mow-y,  why  tild 
dot  berry  in  she  nose?  Funny  doll  baby,  too."  Yes, 
her  doll  was  as  great  a  contrast  to  the  French  beauty 
as  the  little  Alaskan  to  the  small  American.  It  was 
made  of  ivory,  with  legs  tied  in  a  groove  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  a  parka  slipped  over.  How  I  did  want  that 
doll,  but  the  little  thing  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  and  when 
she  feared  I  should  get  it  ran  and  hid  her  beloved, 
like  a  second  Moses,  from  the  foreigner.  It  is  to  the 
credit  of  her  parents  that  they  refused  money  for  the 
doll,  and  it  was  only  after  the  little  thing  herself  con- 
sented, after  two  days'  negotiations,  that  I  obtained 
the  coveted  beauty.  The  child  could  not  withstand 
the  combined  treasure  of  candy,  several  doll's  dishes, 
a  ball,  and  a  parasol  about  the  size  of  a  pail  top.  Evi- 
dently no  such  thing  had  ever  before  been  seen  in 
Stebbins,  and  little  Miss  Eskimo,  parading  up  and 
down  the  beach  with  that  white  parasol  over  her  head, 
was  a  most  ludicrous  sight.  Her  yellowish  face  had  a 
faint  pink  in  the  cheeks — I  saw  several  Eskimo  with 


50          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

that — and  she  had  a  decidedly  Japanese  cast  of  counten- 
ance. By  the  way,  last  year  there  was  found  at  Cape 
Prince  of  Wales  a  very  ancient  suit  of  mail  made  of 
bits  of  iron  lashed  together  with  thongs  almost  identi- 
cal with  the  earliest  examples  of  Japanese  armor.  It 
is  another  of  the  many  indications  that  the  Eskimo 
are  offshoots  of  that  nation. 

I  was  more  than  contented  with  my  curious  doll 
until  I  was  presented  with  the  finest  specimen  I  have 
seen  among  the  Eskimo. 

It  is  made  of  a  beautiful  piece  of  ivory  from  the  tusk 
of  a  mammoth,  an  animal  which  is  said  to  have  become 
extinct  in  Alaska  at  least  150,000  years  ago.  It  is  of  a 
rich  yellow  tint,  for  Father  Time  takes  as  much  pains 
coloring  that  as  any  smoker  does  his  meerschaum,  and 
it  has  a  polish  which  only  ancient  lineage  gives,  for 
this  doll  has  been  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation  for  much  longer  than  the  Eskimo  have 
any  word  for.  It  was  greatly  prized  by  them,  and 
the  one  who  gave  it  to  me  has  been  four  years  trying  to 
persuade  them  to  part  with  the  heirloom.  Dr.  Shel- 
don Jackson  told  me  it  is  the  finest  specimen  he  has 
ever  seen,  and  that  any  time  my  generosity  was  equal 
to  the  strain,  he  would  be  pleased  to  accept  it  on  behalf 
of  the  museum  at  Sitka.  It  is  only  fair  to  save  you 
the  trouble  of  searching  for  its  number  in  the  catalogue, 
however,  by  telling  you  that,  although  I  feel  that  it 
rightfully  belongs  there,  I  feel  certain  that  my  gener- 
osity is  not  to  be  counted  upon  to  that  extent.  The 
ivory  is  the  best  preserved  I  have  seen  from  that  great 
hairy  elephant,  which,  ages  ago,  roamed  the  frozen 
North.  The  doll  itself  is  seven  inches  long.  Its  face, 
I  am  obliged  to  confess,  is  not  lovely  either  in  feature 
or  expression,  and  its  torso  is  indifferent,  but  we  can- 
not all  be  beautiful,  It  certainly  does  not  look  given 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS        51 

over  to  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  sinful  world. 
The  groove  shows  where  legs  could  be  attached,  but 
this  was  a  case  of  beauty  unadorned.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  it  and  similar  images  are,  or  were,  gods. 
This  is  errant  nonsense.  The  Eskimo  have  almost 
no  religious  beliefs,  and  gods  do  not  enter  into  them, 
only  the  grossest  superstition. 

In  Stebbins — how  that  inappropriate  name  jars  upon 
me — I  saw  kiak  frames,  too,  notched,  laden  with  stones 
to  bend  them  aright,  waiting  for  the  covers  which  the 
women  so  industriously  sewed  upon.  When  stretched 
over  the  frames  the  skins  contract  about  the  sinew  as 
they  dry  until  the  seams  are  as  if  welded  together. 
When  intended  for  the  long  sea  voyages  in  which  the 
Eskimo  are  so  daring,  boats  are  covered  with  walrus 
hide,  which  is  thicker  and  stouter  than  seal  skin. 
These  are  laced  with  thongs  in  the  same  way. 
"Umniaks,"  as  these  boats  are  called,  sometimes  hold 
sixty  persons.  They  boldly  cross  back  and  forth  to 
Siberia,  smuggling  in  the  products  of  Alaska  and 
returning  with  whale  blubber,  walrus  skin  and  ivory, 
and  reindeer  skins.  The  Eskimo  dare  a  sea  that 
large  boats  would  fear,  which  is  hardly  to  be  wondered 
at  when  you  remember  that  they  are  said  to  have 
crossed  the  Bering  straits  seated  on  sealskins  paddled 
with  their  own  hands,  "like  little  wanton  boys  that 
swim  on  bladders." 

I  went  into  several  of  their  caches  here,  and  found  the 
same  treasures,  coils  of  thongs,  skins,  furs,  and  walrus 
tusks.  From  these  latter  they  carve  everything.  When 
the  bitter  cold  of  winter  comes  they  amuse  themselves 
by  carving,  and  sometimes  do  remarkable  work.  They 
ornament  everything  that  they  use  and  some  things 
that  they  don't.  Here  is  the  jaw  of  a  Beluga  whale  with 
a  sketch  of  reindeer  browsing  upon  mountains.  The  hills 


52          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

are  adroitly  adapted  to  the  varying  curves  of  the  bone, 
and  the  animals  are  drawn  with  real  spirit.  The  picture 
is  made  by  scratching  with  a  sharp  instrument,  per- 
haps with  a  file,  and  then  rubbing  in  ashes  from  their 
black  tobacco.  I  have  many  specimens  of  really  beau- 
tiful work  done  by  the  Eskimo  in  this  way.  Here  is 
a  section  of  walrus  tusk  hollowed  out  for  a  napkin 
ring.  It  is  covered  with  wild  geese  in  various  atti- 
tudes, drawn  with  singular  fidelity  to  nature,  and  would 
not  discredit  an  artist  of  some  pretensions.  Eskimo 
eat  chunks  of  rancid  grease  as  we  do  chocolates,  so 
that  a  little  ivory  box  I  have  might  be  termed  a  bon- 
bonniere.  It  has  a  wooden  bottom  neatly  fitted  in,  and 
the  cover  pulls  out  by  the  ever-useful  seal  thong.  This 
box  was  a  slice  cut  from  the  walrus  tusk  higher  up. 
It  is  covered  with  these  etchings,  as  such  primitive 
engravings  are  carelessly  called.  Some  of  the  animals 
are  real,  some  are  mythical.  If  one  were  to  write  a 
chapter  on  the  snakes  of  Alaska,  he  might  change  but 
one  word  in  the  well-known  treatise  upon  reptiles  in 
the  Emerald  Isle,  "There  are  no  snakes  in  Ireland." 
Yet,  although  no  Eskimo  has  seen  a  snake  and  seems 
to  possess  no  myths  relative  to  it,  reptiles  are  often 
carved  and  pictured  by  them.  Is  that  not  strangely 
suggestive?  Even  to  them,  "That  running  brook  of 
horror  on  the  ground, ' '  as  Ruskin  so  graphically  puts 
it,  "is  a  divine  hieroglyph  of  the  demoniac  power  of 
the  earth,  of  the  entire  earthly  nature." 

Carving  among  the  Eskimo  is  done  by  everybody, 
but  some  do  really  wonderful  work.  W.  A.  Kjellman 
has  a  specimen  that  was  executed  by  a  Port  Clarence 
native  to  while  away  the  long  winter  hours.  It  is  a 
box-like  affair  about  two  feet  long  representing  a 
"kajim,"  with  a  dozen  or  more  puppets  dancing  to  the 
beating  of  the  tomtoms  in  the  hands  of  other  sitting 


FEATHER   PARKA,    HUNTING   HELMET,    SPEAR,    DANCING    MASQUE   AND 
KNUCKLES,    IVORY   DOLL,    ETC. 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS        53 

figures.  The  dolls,  not  more  than  three  inches  high, 
are  carved  in  ivory  and  carefully  dressed  in  their 
ordinary  fur  costumes.  The  drums  are  perfect  models, 
and  to  their  rhythmic  beat  the  dancers  keep  time  with 
characteristic  movements,  when  one  cord  is  pulled. 
It  is  a  marvelous  bit  of  mechanism,  and  made  with  the 
simplest  of  tools.  The  Eskimo  offered  it  to  a  white 
man  at  Port  Clarence  for  a  sack  of  flour,  and  was 
refused!  Mr.  Kjellman  heard  of  it  and  secured  the 
valuable  carving  for  his  home  collection.  In  the  North 
they  often  carve  ivory  into  fine  reliefs  to  hang  upon 
their  walls,  and  some  of  the  old  bits  are  genuinely 
artistic,  for,  as  Ruskin  says,  "All  good  art  is  the  nat- 
ural utterance  of  its  own  people  in  its  own  day." 
Nothing  escapes  decoration.  I  have  a  fishhook,  the 
ivory  carved  to  represent  a  fish  with  bits  of  cloth  for 
flippers  and  a  nail  for  a  hook.  Eskimo  are  natural 
anglers ;  they  could  catch  a  game  fish  on  a  bent  pin. 
I  have  a  treasure  box  I  secured  at  Stebbins,  an  old  thing 
which  I  dug  out  of  a  tiny  cabin.  It  has  discs  of  ivory 
the  size  of  silver  dollars  set  into  the  wood  and  orna- 
mented with  concentric  rings.  The  handle  is  of  ivory, 
fastened  by  seal  thongs,  and  a  thong  hooks  over  a  tiny 
bit  of  ivory,  carved  like  a  head,  to  fasten  the  cover 
down.  Walrus  teeth  are  two  inches  or  more  long,  and 
half  as  thick.  The  Eskimo  carve  them  for  countless 
things.  Here  is  a  "toggle"  with  which  you  can  carry 
a  heavy  weight  with  comfort.  A  seal  thong  is  put 
through  the  decorated  tooth  and  twisted  into  the 
handle.  The  tooth  is  then  held  in  the  palm,  the  thong 
passing  between  the  fingers. 

Until  recently  the  Eskimo  have  employed  a  bow 
drill  to  produce  fire.  With  the  advent  of  the  white 
man,  they  seized  upon  the  readier  matches.  Yet  a 
fire  can  be  lighted  in  less  than  a  minute  by  one  accus- 


54          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

* 

totned  to  the  fire  set.  It  consists  of  four  pieces :  The 
wooden  mouth-piece  has  a  projection,  which  is  firmly 
held  between  the  teeth.  In  its  bottom  is  a  socket  of 
stone  in  which  rests  the  drill.  This  is  also  wood,  hav- 
ing a  bit  of  sharpened  bone  set  in  the  end,  which  is 
placed  in  a  hole  in  the  "hearth,"  nothing  but  a  small 
dry  board  kept  for  the  purpose.  The  bow  is  a  piece 
of  ivory  from  the  natural  curve  of  the  walrus  tusk,  and 
has  a  seal  thong  which  is  turned  once  about  the  drill 
and  then  twirled  very  rapidly  with  both  hands,  being 
steadied,  as  I  explained,  by  the  teeth.  In  less  than  a 
minute  the  friction  of  the  bone  point  has  produced  a 
spark  which  is  blown  into  tinder,  and  the  gift  of 
Prometheus  has  again  descended.  Holes  are  also 
drilled  in  stone  by  this  device.  The  jar  to  the  head 
and  teeth  must  be  worse  than  that  produced  by  that 
wretched  pedal  drill  at  the  dentist's,  which  sets  every 
nerve  in  one's  body  a-quivering.  But  the  Eskimo 
are  not  a  nervous  people,  the  very  word  in  their  con- 
nection is  absurd,  and  they  are  immensely  strong  in 
their  teeth.  Some  of  them  are  able  to  draw  nails  from 
wood  by  fastening  their  teeth  upon  the  heads.  A  bag 
containing  fireset  and  tinder  used  to  be  a  part  of  the 
necessaiy  belongings  of  every  Eskimo,  but  now  they 
are  comparatively  rare.  My  bow  is  a  fine  old  speci- 
men traced  with  rude  pictures  of  a  ship  and  rowboat 
filled  with  men  hunting  walrus  and  native  boats  on  one 
side,  on  the  other  a  barabbara,  fishrack  and  reindeer. 
I  have  also  walrus  teeth  carved  to  represent  whales, 
seal,  walrus,  etc.  One  is  a  double-faced,  mythical  animal 
which  doubtless  has  to  them  some  such  meaning  as 
attached  to  Janus.  These  carvings  are  not  charms,  as 
among  the  Indians  of  Southeastern  Alaska,  but  simply 
exhibitions  of  their  liking  for  decoration.  An 
Eskimo,  like  a  Yankee  boy,  loves  to  whittle. 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS       55 

Stebbins  homes  (!)  follow  the  beach,  of  course. 
Eskimo  are  surely  amphibious;  not  long  ago  their 
feet  must  have  been  webbed.  Back  of  this  pocket 
borough,  deep  in  the  rank  grass,  are  some  old  graves 
almost  obliterated  by  weight  of  snow  and  beat  of  rain. 
Upon  one  was  the  weather-worn  vertebra  of  a  white 
whale,  the  last  killed,  doubtless,  by  the  deceased. 
"This,  boy  grave,"  said  the  young  Eskimo  who  more 
than  once  escorted  me  about  to  explain  things,  "see 
bow  and  arrow  over?  Girl  have  woman  paddle  over." 
Age  is  shown  by  paddles  of  different  shapes.  Eski- 
mo women  are  treated  well,  by  the  way,  yet  girl 
babies  are  undesired,  and  are  often  put  to  death  at 
birth.  Although  a  kindly,  goodnatured  people,  smil- 
ing and  happy,  they  still  adhere  to  cruelties  which  seem 
eradicable;  this  is  particularly  true  where  living  is 
hard.  Way  down  in  the  valley  of  the  Kuskokwin  is  a 
little  Moravian  mission  called  Bethel.  The  missionary, 
Mr.  Kilbuck,  is  a  well-educated,  full-blooded  Indian, 
and  his  wife  is  an  accomplished  white  woman.  They 
are  doing  a  really  , wonderful  work  in  civilizing  the 
Eskimo  in  all  that  isolated  region.  In  Mrs.  Kilbuck 's 
diary  are  many  things  that  will  be  valuable  in  a  time 
not  far  in  the  future  when  the  tale  of  this  people  will 
have  been  told.  She  says,  writing  in  the  early  days 
of  the  mission : 

"A  few  days  ago  we  were  shocked  by  the  news  of  a 
very  heathenish  and  cruel  attempt  to  kill  a  little  child, 
a  sickly  boy  about  two  years  old.  He  was  taken  away 
from  the  village  and  tied  down  at  the  water's  edge  at 
low  tide,  without  any  clothes  on.  A  passer-by  heard 
his  cry,  and  found  the  child  with  the  water  nearly  to 
its  neck.  It  was  taken  to  the  post  and  cared  for.  The 
child's  mother  is  dead,  and  the  father  had  left  it  in  the 
care  of  an  old  woman  of  Mumtreckhlagamute,  who 
most  likely  did  the  deed,  as  she  was  on  her  way  to 
winter  in  her  village.  The  only  thing  that  surprised 


56          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

the  natives  was  the  fact  that  it  was  a  boy.  They  often 
kill  their  little  girl  babies." 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Kilbuck  writes : 

"An  old  woman  at  the  post,  who  stayed  with  us  for 
a  while  when  we  first  came,  is  dead.  The  natives 
accused  her  of  killing  two  children  by  witchery,  for 
which  they  clubbed  her  to  death,  severed  all  her 
joints,  and  burned  her  with  oil,  as  is  their  custom  of 
treating  such  persons.  Superstition  has  a  strong  hold 
here,  and  is  one  of  our  greatest  hindrances.  An  old 
woman,  insane  and  hard  to  care  for,  was  brought  down 
the  river,  and  when  strangers  refused  to  keep  her,  her 
nephew  took  her  back  and  deliberately  froze  her  to 
death." 

Like  most  barbarians,  the  Eskimo  regard  insanity 
as  the  work  of  devils  and  the  victim  as  accursed.  In 
1890,  the  native  helper  at  this  mission,  because  of 
temporary  insanity,  was  clubbed  to  death.  The  people 
often  suffer  greatly  and  even  die  of  starvation.  Mrs. 
Kilbuck  speaks  of  the  continued  wet  weather's  pre- 
venting the  curing  of  fish  for  winter,  so  that  before 
Christmas  the  natives  were  short  of  food,  and  before 
spring  ate  dogs  that  had  been  dead  for  weeks.  The 
school  had  to  be  closed  because  they  had  not  food 
enough  to  feed  the  children,  who  went  back  into  the 
mountains  to  trap  what  game  could  be  found.  It  is 
such  practical  and  yet  devoted  women  as  Mrs.  Kilbuck 
who  uplift  the  name  of  missionary,  which  in  some 
places  in  Alaska  is,  I  grieve  to  say,  synonymous  with 
dreamer  or  schemer. 

Eskimo  chiefs  have  no  real  authority.  It  is  the  Sha- 
mans, medicine  men,  who  are  influential  among  the 
primitive  natives.  When  Mr.  Kilbuck  was  once 
delayed  in  the  mountains  on  a  trip  to  Bristol  Bay,  and 
was  supposed  by  all  to  be  dead,  the  old  Shaman,  sham- 
man  should  be  the  name,  boasted  that  he  had  produced 
the  bad  weather  in  order  to  kill  the  missionary.  The 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS       57 

Shaman's  power  seems  chiefly  devilry,  voodooing,  as 
an  old  negro  would  term  it.  To  make  one  more  refer- 
ence to  Mrs.  Kilbuck's  diary,  she  quotes  from  a  well- 
known  hymn,  "I  am  so  glad  that  Jesus  Loves  me," 
which  they  have  translated,  and  which  all  the  Eskimo 
there  were  singing.  I  think  one  verse  will  be  suffi- 
cient, especially  as  the  language  is  exhausting  to  x's: 

"Ang-nex-twa  xa  At-ta-vut  whong-u-ta 

Kah-nax-jah-xah-nick  Xok  tochi-ki-xa-kut 
To  chal-li-lou  kah-nax-jah-xang-x-li-ni 
Whing-a  Xok  kimn-kang-a  Jesus  Christus." 

Speaking  of  missionaries  reminds  me  of  a  curious 
paper  that  was  given  me  in  Alaska.  Its  heading  is : 

THE  ESKIMO  BULLETIN. 

The  Only  Yearly  in  the  World. 

Cape  Prince  of  Wales,  Alaska,  July,  1897. 

It  Is  a  Very  Interesting  Number  and  a  Credit  to— 

W.  T.  Lopp,  Editor  and  Publisher. 

Oo-ten-na,  Engraver. 

It  is  fully  worth  the  "one  dollar  a  year,"  and  I  should 
think  a  good  many  people  would  buy  the  annual  copy 
not  only  for  its  interesting  contents,  but  to  keep  as  a  curi- 
osity. A  "Special  Dog-Sled  Dispatch,"  dated  Golovin 
Bay,  March  25,  announces,  " Bryan  is  President,  and 
U.  S.  is  at  war  with  Spain.  This  news  comes  from  the 
Yukon."  Like  many  another  "special,"  this  is  quite 
true  barring  a  particular  or  two.  Like  larger  news- 
papers, the  "special"  is  denied,  but  in  the  same  issue, 
stating  that  it  was  a  mistake  arising  "from  a  practi- 
cal joke  played  on  a  Yukon  steamer."  So  much  for 
politics.  The  "leader"  is  a  murder,  with  headlines 
announcing — 


58          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

CHIEF  KOKITUK'S  DEATH. 

Shot  and  Stabbed  by  Two  Brothers. 
His  Brother  is  His  Avenger. 

The  whole  account  is  interesting  as  betraying  how 
close  a  resemblance  Cains  of  all  countries  bear  to  one 
another.  It  ends:  "Kokituk's  only  brother,  Otsbaok, 
inherited  most  of  his  property.  It  consists  of  a  frame 
house,  oomeaks,  dogs,  sleds,  thong,  ivory,  marten, 
beaver,  fox,  wolf,  walrus,  land  otter  and  deer  skins. 
He  is  a  bright  young  man,  about  twenty  years  old,  and, 
unlike  all  his  people,  temperate.  Although  custom 
appointed  him  to  avenge  his  brother's  death,  he  seemed 
loath  to  fight  and  would  have  gone  to  the  Reindeer 
Station  for  a  few  months  but  for  his  father,  chief 
Eliquek,  who  demanded  he  should  stay  here  and  do  his 
duty." 

The  first  page  also  contains  a  very  creditable  cut 
" by  our  Eskimo  engraver"  of  the  monument  sent  by 
friends  of  the  missionary  who  was  murdered  there  by 
drunken  Eskimo  four  years  ago,  Harrison  R.  Thorn- 
ton. Mr.  Thornton  was  one  of  but  two  missionaries 
who  have  been  killed  in  all  Alaska.  The  shaft  bears 
the  testimony,  "A  good  soldier  of  Christ,"  and  on  the 
other  side,  "Erected  by  Friends  in  Southport,  Conn." 
The  paper  announces  that  this  monument  on  that 
lonely  hillside  facing  Bering  Strait  *  'is  the  most  West- 
ern, if  not  the  most  Northern  marble  grave-stone  on 
this  continent. ' ' 

In  every  newspaper,  in  close  juxtaposition  to  the 
accounts  of  such  tragedies,  may  usually  be  found  their 
reason  to  be.  The  Eskimo  Bulletin  is  no  exception, 
as  another  article  on  the  first  page,  which  so  interest- 
ingly describes  the  Eskimo  manufacture  of  spirits, 
proves; 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS        59 

DISTILLING  A  "HOME  INDUSTRY." 
4OO    GALLONS    OF    MOLASSES    MADE    INTO    RUM. 

The  oldest  inhabitants  say  that,  in  the  history  of 
the  Keng-its-meets,  the  winter  of  *96-'97  has  never 
been  paralleled  for  drunkenness,  disorder  and 
bloodshed.  Liquor  has  been  distilled  in  almost 
every  house.  Some  have  manufactured  it  for  trade, 
and  others  for  "family  use."  Those  who  had  no 
outfits  borrowed  their  neighbors. ' '  Protracted  drunk- 
en brawls  often  prevented  many  from  taking  advan- 
tage of  favorable  conditions  of  ice  and  wind  for  seal 
and  bear  hunting.  At  times,  many  were  on  the  verge 
of  starvation. 

A  five-gallon  oil  can,  attached  at  the  top  to  the  end 
of  an  old  gun-barrel  which  passes  almost  horizontally 
through  a  barrel  filled  with  snow  or  ice  water,  consti- 
tutes the  still.  A  fermented  mixture  of  molasses  or 
sugar  and  flour,  when  placed  in  the  oil  can  and  heated 
sufficiently  to  cause  the  alcohol  to  pass  off  through  the 
gun-barrel  worm,  produces  a  kind  of  rum,  which  judg- 
ing from  the  effects,  seems  to  have  all  the  desired 
properties  of  the  imported  article.  A  bottle  full  of  the 
" Moonshine,"  "Aurora  Borealis,"  or  "Midnight-sun" 
brand,  can  be  readily  exchanged  for  a  red  fox  skin. 
More  than  four  hundred  gallons  of  cheap  black 
molasses  and  a  quantity  of  sugar  and  flour  have  been 
used  for  the  purpose. 

I  am  always  amused  with  the  paragraphic  news  of 
country  newspapers,  but  it  is  extremely  interesting  to 
read  in  The  Eskimo  Bulletin : 

LOCALS, 

An  August  mail  from  the  States,  via  St.  Michael, 
arrived  in  December. 

Ne-akpuk  caught  eleven  seals  in  one  night,  with  nets 
placed  under  the  ice. 

May  and  June  proved  good  months  for  walrusing. 
About  300  were  killed, 


60          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

A  small  building  boom  struck  our  town  last  summer. 
Three  new  buildings  (above  ground)  were  erected. 

Capt.  Newth  towed  a  whale  ashore  for  the  Diomedes 
natives. 

Why  have  so  many  whales  and  walrus  been  captured 
in  Bering  Strait  this  spring?  Has  the  influence  of  the 
new  administration  reached  the  Arctic? 

Through  the  kindness  of  Capt.  Tuttle,  we  received 
a  part  of  the  mail  and  a  big  Christmas  box  from  Dr. 
Storrs'  "boys"  at  the  early  date  of  June  25. 

A  novel  feature  of  the  Sunday  School  was  a  collec- 
tion box.  Bits  of  lead,  powder,  caps,  primers, 
cartridges,  spoons,  matches,  squirrel  and  ermine  skins 
were  contributed  every  Sunday.  This  collection  will 
be  used  to  build  a  small  mission  house  in  a  neighbor- 
ing village.  (One  of  old  said,  '  *  Silver  and  gold  have 
I  none,  but  such  as  I  have  give  I  unto  thee. ") 

The  people  were  surprised  that  no  calamity  fell  upon 
the  Christian  natives  who  refused  to  observe  the 
superstitious  customs  after  netting  white  whales. 

Through  the  liberality  of  Mr.  W.  T.  Hatch,  one  of 
the  substantial  supporters  of  the  Boys'  Miss'y  Society 
of  Dr.  Storrs'  church,  we  are  able  to  print  Vol.  Ill  of 
the  Bulletin  in  regular  typographical  style.  The  press 
has  been  used  to  print  original  lessons  for  the  school. 

The  little  children  were  delighted  with  the  kinder- 
garten in  May.  (Think  of  an  Eskimo  kindergarten. 
Froebel  would  enjoy  visiting  that,  if  indeed  he  has  not 
already  done  so,  for  surely  spirits  must  enjoy  their 
immunity  from  time  and  space.) 

In  this  up-to-date  little  newspaper  there  are  even 
two  advertisements: 

"In-ne,  with  hall,  kitchen,  living  room  and  elevated 
cache  for  sale.  Madl-ik"  which  sounds  like  a  joke, 
and  '  ^  Heads  and  skulls  of  walrus  for  sale  by  Ne-tax-ite. " 

Both  of  these  are  rudely  illustrated. 

The  paths  of  literature  are  alluring,  and  we  have 
strayed  adown  them  far  from  Stebbins.  Let  us  return 
and  walk  through  the  rank  grass  behind  the  little 
dwellings  to  the  Kajim.  A  Kajim  is  the  village  club 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS        61 

house,  so  to  speak.  In  summer  it  is  little  used,  but  in 
winter  a  large  fire  is  kept  burning  in  the  center,  and 
the  men  there  do  their  carving  and  the  women  what- 
ever passes  for  Eskimo  fancy  work  about  the  cheery 
blaze,  for,  the  coasts  being  generally  bare  of  fuel  along 
this  part  of  Alaska,  even  in  the  bitterest  weather  indi- 
vidual families  seldom  have  fires.  At  the  Kajim,  the 
news  of  the  day  is  passed — goodness  only  knows  what 
it  is — and  gossip  is  rife,  as  among  all  ignorant  people. 
The  Eskimo  also  spin  long  yarns,  themselves  the 
heroes,  telling  of  their  prowess  and  achievements,  and 
repeat  the  olden  myths  of  their  tribes  while  smoke  one, 
smoke  all.  The  Kajims  are  built  much  alike,  varying 
chiefly  in  age  and  accumulation  of  dirt  and  vermin. 
A  passage  about  twenty  feet  long  brings  one  to  the 
door  in  summer,  but  in  winter  you  must  drop  into  a 
hole  in  this  passage  and  crawl  on  hands  and  knees 
through  a  tunnel,  emerging  on  the  inside.  I  crawled 
with  difficulty  into  the  aperture,  and  found  myself  in 
a  room  about  twenty  feet  square,  lighted  dimly  by 
one  small  opening  at  the  top,  covered  with  seal  intes- 
tine. A  large  log  extended  the  length  of  every  side 
built  against  the  wall  about  the  height  of  a  table. 
These  logs  were  really  very  rich  in  color,  being  black- 
ened by  age  and  smoke  and  dirt  till  they  resembled 
ancient  mahogany,  with  a  polish  acquired  from  daily 
contact  with  greasy  fur  or  naked  flesh.  There  were  a 
couple  of  tree  crotches  cut  so  that  they  stood  firm, 
holding  frying  pans  of  oil,  not  pleasant  olive  oil,  but 
malodorous  seal,  in  which  were  strips  of  drill  for  wicks. 
In  the  center  of  the  room  was  a  large  deep  square  in 
which  a  great  fire  is  kept  in  winter,  and  around  it  was 
a  boarded  place  for  the  ceremonious  dances.  Two 
other  troughs  stood  about,  which  in  winter  are  filled 
with  snow,  and  numerous  wooden  dishes  upon  the  bench 


62          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

are  used  for  the  same,  for  it  is  a  curious  habit  of  the 
Eskimo  to  take  an  almost  nightly  ** sweat  bath"  in 
winter.  Every  crevice  is  carefully  closed,  and  a  roar- 
ing fire  made.  The  smoke,  unable  to  find  vent,  hangs 
in  clouds,  till  the  atmosphere  could  lie  served  in 
slices.  The  men,  stark  naked,  lie  upon  the  logs 
and  breathe  through  mouth-pieces.  They  are  made 
of  a  sort  of  hay,  with  a  stick  at  the  back,  which 
is  held  between  the  teeth.  Three  minutes  is  the 
limit  a  white  man  can  bear  of  this  terrific  heat, 
smoke,  and  stench,  yet  Eskimo  will  endure  it  for  an 
hour  at  a  time  by  frequently  rubbing  themselves  down 
with  snow.  Once  in  a  while  one  of  the  natives 
refreshes  himself  by  rushing  out,  naked  and  perspir- 
ing, into  the  clear  Arctic  air,  rolling  in  the  snow  at  a 
temperature  far  below  zero,  and  returns  to  the  Kajim 
for  another  season  of  enjoyment.  It  is  seldom  that  a 
foreigner  is  allowed  to  mingle  with  the  native  pleas- 
ures, but  a  young  fellow  from  one  of  the  companies, 
having  killed  a  seal,  proved  himself  a  good  shot  at 
fowl  and  clever  with  fish-line,  was  finally  given  that 
privilege,  perhaps  the  more  readily  because  he  much 
resembled  an  Indian.  He  had  determined  to  make  an 
impression  and  took  with  him  to  the  Kajim  a  brightly 
colored  circus  poster  showing  the  animals.  He  told 
them  that  he  had  been  in  a  tent  which  would  hold  not 
only  all  the  Stebbinsites,  but  all  their  houses,  with 
room  to  spare.  Then  he  showed  them  the  strange  and 
dreadful  animals  and  described  them.  Their  wonder 
and  awe  grew  at  every  word.  He  found  that  he  was 
decidedly  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and,  waxing  animated, 
described  the  wonderful  tumbling  and  the  three-fold 
somersaults  performed  by  the  acrobats,  whose  pictures 
in  bespangled  tights  he  showed  them  to  prove  his 
marvelous  words.  Now,  the  Eskimo  are  pretty 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS       63 

agile  themselves,  and  as  they  lie  boasting  upon  their 
bench  one  will  spring  up  and  demonstrate  some  trick 
or  tumble  for  the  admiration  of  the  others.  When, 
therefore,  he  described  the  somersault  in  air,  one  of 
the  Eskimo  demanded  to  be  taught  it  then  and  there. 
That  he  couldn't  do,  of  course,  but  to  recover  lost 
ground  he  told  the  interested  natives  that  he  had  trav- 
eled in  a  long  house  which  had  an  engine  that  said 
chu-chu,  and  that  they  went  on  dry  land  over  mountain 
and  tundra,  so  fast  that  they  could  have  gone  from 
Stebbins  to  Dawson  in  two  days.  "All  same  like 
goose,"  broke  in  one  of  his  spell-bound  audience. 

Speaking  of  their  agility,  Eskimo  belie  their  slow 
and  clumsy  appearance.  The  officers  of  the  Bear  often 
amuse  themselves  by  placing  some  desired  thing  high 
and  telling  the  Eskimo  it  is  for  the  one  who  kicks 
it  off.  They  will  spring  up,  strike  it  with  both  feet 
and  recover  themselves  instantly,  alighting  upon  their 
feet. 

The  Eskimo  attend  strictly  to  business  during  the 
summer,  and  go  visiting  all  winter.  Their  peculiar 
dances  are  held  in  January  and  February.  St.  Mich- 
ael, for  instance,  entertained  last  year.  Some  of  the 
guests  came  three  hundred  miles  to  the  festivities.  As 
they  gather,  they  camp  just  without  the  city  gates,  so 
to  speak,  though  none  of  them  ever  saw  a  gate,  and 
wait  till  all  are  assembled.  Then  officials  correspon- 
ding to  our  mayor  and  chief  of  police,  go  out  to  meet 
them  on  behalf  of  the  entertaining  village,  certain  cere- 
monies are  performed,  and  the  visitors  are  given  the 
freedom  of  the  city.  They  tender  their  arms  and 
weapons  of  every  kind  to  two  men,  not  only  as  a  sign 
of  peaceful  invasion  but  because  in  subsequent  festivi- 
ties it  is  safer  to  all  concerned  to  be  provided  with 
nothing  that  will  "go  off."  These  weapons  are  under 


64          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

guard  of  two  natives  who  are  responsible  for  them  and 
who  would  shoot  without  question  any  one  who  tam- 
pered with  them.  As  the  guests  arrive,  the  people 
run  out  and  beg  them  "Come  to  my  house."  In  fact, 
both  Eskimo  and  Indians  in  Alaska  are  hospitable  to 
the  degree  commanded  in  the  Bible  they  have  not  read. 
Though  the  likelihood  of  entertaining  angels  unawares 
is  reduced  to  the  minimum  in  Alaska,  if  a  sled  is  heard 
at  any  time,  the  natives  will  rush  out  to  be  first  to 
invite  the  stranger  in,  and  will  readily  share  with  him 
what  little  food  they  have.  Indeed,  the  Eskimo 
possess  several  virtues  which  shame  us  who  assume  to 
be  civilized  because  our  thin  veneer  shows  so  high  a 
polish,  a  polish  so  superficial,  however,  that  but  slight 
friction  wears  it  off.  Let  me  tell  you  something  which 
touched  me.  At  Point  Barrow,  the  land  farthest  north 
on  this  continent,  and  farthest  removed,  too,  it  would 
seem,  from  the  influences  of  our  motto,  "Every  man 
for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost,"  the 
manufacture  of  their  curious  stone  stoves  is  a  work  of 
time.  When  a  young  man  approaches  marriageable 
age  he  selects  a  large  boulder,  in  size  and  shape  approx- 
imating what  he  wishes,  and  begins  to  chip  it  out  in 
the  time-honored  fashion,  working  with  a  sharpened 
stone.  There  is  a  steep  rough  trail,  much  traveled 
by  the  natives,  who  rest  at  a  certain  point.  At  this 
place  he  lays  his  incipient  lamp-stove.  Every  Eskimo 
who  thereafter  passes  that  way  takes  up  the  stone 
and  hacks  away  at  it  while  he  rests  from  his  climb, 
leaving  it  for  the  next.  As  it  nears  completion  the 
utmost  pains  is  taken  with  it,  and  when  quite  finished 
the  young  man  takes  his  property  and  his  wife  at  the 
same  time.  Any  Eskimo  who  refused  to  work  at  the 
stone  would  be  considered  below  contempt,  and  no  one 
ever  heard  of  the  lamp  being  stolen.  "It  might  not 


THE  ESKIMO  TOWN  OF  STEBBINS       65 

even  be  known  whose  it  was,"  I  said.  "True,  but 
every  one  but  the  owner  would  know  it  was  not  his." 
Imagine  so  simple  and  beautiful  a  deed  in  our  enlight- 
ened state  and  States. 

These  lamp-stoves  are  both  curious  and  ingenious, 
of  ancient  use  as  well.  They  are  crescent-shaped,  from 
a  foot  across  to  three,  I  should  think.  This  is  a  top 
view.  The  stone  is  hollowed  out  between  the  lines, 
and  filled  with  seal  oil,  in  which  reindeer  moss  serves 
as  wick.  When  lighted,  the  flame  is  unbroken  over  all 
the  top,  the  typical  new  moon  of  the  Esquimo  honey- 
moon. This  is  their  light  and  heat.  American 
honeymoons  are  lazier. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    POTLATCH 

This  is  the  most  widespread  custom  in  Alaska. 
Eskimo,  Aleuts  and  Indians  of  the  various  tribes,  all 
while  away  the  long  dreary  winter  with  song  and 
dance,  eating  and  drinking.  /  In  Southeastern  Alaska, 
the  Potlatch  is  usually  given  by  an  individual  who 
wishes  to  acquire  distinction,  to  become  a  social  leader, 
and  the  gifts  are  from  him,  just  as  Mrs.  Vanderbilt 
gives  a  German  and  provides  costly  favors  for  her 
guests.  In  neither  case  does  it  argue  generosity  or 
kindly  feeling  toward  the  recipients,  only  self-glorifica- 
tion and  a  childish  delight  in  the  show  of  wealth. 
Among  the  Eskimo  of  the  western  coast,  however,  a 
Potlatch  is  more  like  a  donation  party. 

I  have  mentioned  a  young  man  who  ingratiated  him- 
self with  the  Stebbinsites,  having  impressed  them  at 
the  Kajim  as  being  a  very  important  personage.  Alex, 
one  of  the  pilots  aboard  the  Healy,  where  he  was 
pilot,  espoused  his  cause  and  obtained  for  him  the 
very  unusual  privilege  of  being  present  at  a  Potlatch 
given  to  the  neighboring  villages.  To  him  I  am 
indebted  for  the  description  of  the  decorations  and 
proceedings  of  this  one. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  a 
blizzard  was  raging  with  ever-increasing  violence. 
Behind  the  bluff,  snow  had  drifted  to  a  depth  of  a  hun- 
dred feet,  and  it  was  bitterly  cold.  A  herald  went  to 
and  fro  among  the  little  houses,  which  rounded  up  like 

66 


THE  POTLATCH  67 

frosted  dropcakes,  for  a  Titan  feast,  and  loudly  pro- 
claimed the  event,  bidding  every  one  repair  to  the 
Kajim.  "On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  unconfined," 
or  words  to  that  effect.  Families  and  visiting  relatives, 
some  from  a  distance  of  fifty  miles,  then  wended  their 
way  through  the  cutting  blast  to  the  dance-hall,  which 
was  but  a  step  away  for  every  one.  The  decorations 
were,  if  not  beautiful,  certainly  unique.  In  the  center 
of  the  room  was  a  huge  funnel,  covered  with  the  downy 
feathers  of  the  wild  goose,  which  were  constantly  in 
motion.  Overhead,  wires  were  stretched  across  the 
room,  and  upon  them  hung  grotesque  figures  that 
appeared  to  be  standing  unsupported  in  the  air,  which 
might  almost  have  been,  so  thick  did  the  atmosphere 
become.  Among  these  figures  were  hoot  owls,  with 
their  wings  attached  to  sinews  jerked  from  time  to  time 
by  small  boys  concealed  under  the  benches,  so  that  the 
owls  appeared  to  fly.  Some  of  these  effigies  were 
really  horrible,  more  were  ludicrous.  The  Eskimo 
show  as  much  skill  and  invention  in  carvirig  grotesques 
as  those  who  cut  the  gargoyles  for  the  old  cathedrals 
of  Europe. 

At  an  Alaskan  German,  the  Shaman,  or  Medicine 
Man,  is  the  Ward  McAllister,  the  Master  of  Cere- 
monies, and  the  Potlatch  began  with  his  appearance 
on  all  fours.  He  then  crouched  behind  a  huge  mask 
three  or  four  feet  high,  while  he  chanted  in  monoto- 
nous recitative  the  marvelous  achievements  of  his  ances- 
tors, deeds  only  exceeded  by  his  own,  "big  Injun  me." 
His  boasting  recalls  a  cousin  of  mine  who  would  be  in 
his  element  at  a  Kajim.  If  any  one  has  scored  a  great 
jump,  he  has  cleared  a  greater ;  was  any  one  suffering 
from  la  grippe,  he  had  just  recovered  from  a  worse 
attack ;  if  you  told  of  a  grand  sight,  he  had  witnessed  a 
grander.  Had  my  cousin  been  there,  the  Shaman 


68          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

would  not  have  had  it  all  his  own  way.  All  the  time 
he  was  boasting  like  the  Toreador  in  Carmen,  two  or 
three  men  chanted.  These  Shamans  really  do  some  very 
wonderful  things.  One  at  Port  Hope  has  become 
widely  known  among  ships'  crews  by  his  performance 
of  a  trick  no  one  has  yet  fathomed.  The  officers  of  the 
Bear  once  wagered  upon  his  success,  and  the  Shaman 
was  brought  aboard.  Drums  and  chanting  prepared  the 
proper  conditions,  and  then  the  crew  tied  the  Shaman 
hand  and  foot  by  ropes  knotted  as  only  sailors  can  knot. 
A  Parka  was  drawn  over  the  whole,  and  officers  of  the 
crew  watched  closely.  No  one  knows  how  it  was  done, 
but  all  attest  that  it  was.  The  man  cast  the  net  work 
from  him  as  a  spider  web,  and  stood  free.  On  Stony 
Creek,  another  Shaman  does  the  same  trick  and  allows 
you  to  throw  him,  tied  like  a  bundle,  into  the  water. 
It  is  but  a  moment  before  he  is  swimming  a-shore. 
The  medicine  man's  legerdemain  is  practiced  for  weeks 
in  a  deep  forest,  where  none  may  see.  Often  he 
needs  a  helper,  in  which  case  he  takes  with  him  a  con- 
federate apprentice.  But  sometimes  the  wonderful 
things  they  accomplish  cannot  be  explained.  Last 
winter,  a  Potlatch  lasting  weeks  was  held  at  St.  Michael, 
to  which  guests  came  from  three  hundred  miles  away. 
Each  village  had  brought  its  Shaman,  who  not  only 
boasted  what  he  had  done,  but  actually  demonstrated 
that  he  could  perform  wonders,  while  the  Eskimo 
grunted  approval,  and  then  put  forward  another  to  out- 
do him.  It  was  at  this  time  that  one  of  them  was 
hanged  by  the  neck  with  a  sinew,  and  kept  suspended 
fully  ten  minutes.  When  cut  down,  his  head  fell  over 
limply,  his  limbs  dangled  lifelessly,  he  appeared  to  be 
dead.  In  a  few  minutes  he  revived,  and  after  a  short 
time  was  as  lively  as  a  cricket.  The  American  who 
told  me  of  it  had  no  explanation  to  offer.  He  simply 


THE  POTLATCH  69 

said  he  had  seen  it,  and  so  had  others.  He  himself 
had  carefully  examined  the  man  as  he  hung,  and  swore 
there  was  no  supporting  harness,  nor  trick  contrivance 
of  any  kind  that  he  could  discover.  As  for  me,  I  tell 
it  as  I  heard  it,  but  so  many  reliable  people  assert  the 
truth  of  these  things  that  they  appear  indisputable. 
One  funny  thing  happened  at  St.  Michael's  Potlatch ;  a 
Shaman  having  boasted  that  he  was  bullet  proof,  was 
about  to  demonstrate  it  by  a  confederate,  when  a  white 
man  crept  in  and  sped  a  bullet  straight  through  the 
Shaman's  hand,  whereat,  in  pain  and  discomfiture,  he 
retired,  followed  by  the  jeers  of  the  Eskimo. 

But  to  return  to  Stebbins.  After  the  medicine  man 
had  finished  the  recitals  of  his  own  virtues  and  prowess, 
he  retired  to  a  corner,  and  presided  over  the  festivities. 
Several  men  beat  upon  tomtoms,  and  struck  the  floors 
with  sticks.  This  was  the  officer  which  inspired  the 
mazy  whirl. 

When  did  dancing  begin?  Methinks  in  the  world's 
babyhood,  "when  the  morning  stars  sang  together," 
and  to  their  music  the  mountain  rills  danced  merrily 
along  to  meet  in  the  quiet  river  their  fate ;  when  to  the 
warble  of  birds,  the  forest  boughs,  all  in  Lincoln  green, 
like  so  many  Robin  Hoods  and  Irish  Katys,  bowed  and 
swung  "forward  and  back" ;  when  bees  and  all  manner 
of  insects  cheerily  tuned  their  orchestra  that  the  flowers 
might  sway  in  the  stately  minuet  led  by  milord  the 
breeze,  light  of  foot  as  he  clasps  the  queenly  rose, 
swings  the  pale  lily,  or  returns  the  shy  violet's  bow, 
but  cruelly  slights  the  wall-flower,  setting  a  bad 
example  to  society  leaders  ever  since ;  when  the  care- 
less butterflies  flitted  about  in  the  arms  of  the  sun- 
beams, just  as  many  a  butterfly  since  has  danced  with 
what  she  thought  true  gold  because  it  glittered ;  when 
even  Earth  herself,  attired  in  her  best  gown  of  flowered 


70          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

green  and  flashing  with  jewels,  allowed  the  fierce  Sea, 
in  his  navy  blue,  to  encircle  her  ample  waist,  while 
they  spun  off  into  the  great  ballroom  of  the  universe, 
dodging  breathless,  hoydenish  little  Mercury  and  the 
Comet  sisters,  who  drag  their  trains  about  not  car- 
ing whose  way  they  are  in,  where  all  are  taking  their 
turn  to  the  "music  of  the  spheres,"  except  Arcturus, 
the  placid  chaperon  who  sits  watching  the  dancers 
and  their  satellites,  especially  Saturn,  the  flirt,  Venus, 
the  beauty,  and  Sirius,  the  brightest  of  them  all. 

Begin?  Why,  dancing  began  with  the  beginning. 
Minerva  started  the  fashion  among  the  immortals  when 
she  danced  over  the  defeat  of  the  Titans.  Castor  & 
Pollux  was  the  firm  name  of  the  first  dancing  masters, 
who  excelled  in  the  Memphitic  or  war  dance  to  the 
music  of  martial  songs  and  the  clang  of  swords 
against  bucklers.  The  Spartans  danced  with  hymns  to 
Apollo,  god  of  poetry,  and  Bacchus,  god  of  dance. 
Their  leaders  were  called  Corypheans,  just  as  the  heads 
of  the  ballet  are  now.  The  Egyptians  had  their  mys- 
terious and  complicated  astronomical  dance;  the 
Romans  their  Archimimus,  or  chief  mimic's  dance, 
when  a  noble  wearing  the  apparel  and  a  portrait 
masque  of  a  king  would  precede  his  hearse,  solemnly 
dancing  and  acting  the  deeds  of  the  heroic  dead. 
Little  girls  bearing  cypress  boughs  danced  in  the  fu- 
neral processions  of  Athenian  kings.  David  danced 
before  the  Ark  and  Miriam  before  the  Children  in  the 
Wilderness. 

Like  other  primitive  peoples,  the  Alaskans  have 
dances  to  express  all  phases  of  their  narrow  lives,  the 
seasons,  the  mosquito  pest,  hunting,  warfare,  ancient 
cannibalism,  endurance  of  pain,  and  more.  Some  of 
these  pantomimic  dances  are  wonderful,  for  aborigi- 
nals are,  like  children,  natural  actors.  But  this  night 


THE  POTLATCH  71 

the  dancing  was  the  pristine  movement  simply,  slow, 
monotonous  turning  and  swaying.  If  you  have  never 
seen  it,  you  have  only  to  ask  your  toddling  baby  to 
"dance  for  mother,"  and  raising  his  tiny  hands  he  will 
show  you  the  exact  step,  crooning  to  himself  for  the 
rhythm.  My  little  child  even  holds  her  hands  palms 
forward  as  most  barbarians  do.  As  the  Alaskans 
dance,  the  tomtoms  are  struck  to  emphasize  the 
movements.  These  instruments  are  curious,  and  by 
no  means  unmusical.  They  are  really  shallow  drums, 
covered  on  one  side  only,  and  about  the  size  of  base 
drums,  with  handles.  The  skin  is  the  intestine  of  the 
ever-useful  seal,  and  is  affected  by  the  slightest  damp- 
ness. The  one  I  obtained  at  Stebbins  is  an  old  one, 
yet  it  serves  me  almost  as  well  as  a  registered  barom- 
eter. 

After  the  Shaman  had  retired  to  a  corner,  the  men 
of  the  tribe  danced,  at  first  singly  and  in  the  order  of 
their  importance,  which  was  evidently  prearranged 
and  undisputed,  while  their  wives  and  mothers  whirled 
round  and  round  at  the  sides  like  satellites  to  the  star 
performer,  and  the  Shaman  loudly  recited  his  deeds 
and  virtues  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  tomtom  play- 
ers' weird,  droning  chant.  Terpsichore  was  goddess 
both  of  dance  and  choral  music,  yet  I  think  the  white- 
robed  Grecian  Muse  would  have  felt  herself  out  of  her 
element  presiding  over  her  Eskimo  devotees  at  this 
Alaskan  potlatch.  Each  man  who  danced  wore  a  mask 
tied  over  his  face,  a  mask  which,  to  the  tribe,  identifies 
him  with  his  family  and  forefathers.  This  mask  is 
like  a  coat-of-arms,  and  every  part  of  it  has  some  mean- 
ing to  the  initiated,  though  it  may  appear  supremely 
ridiculous  to  outsiders.  Every  family  has  one,  which 
is  never  deviated  from  in  the  least  from  generation  to 
generation.  It  is  usually  whittled  from  wood,  and  is 


72          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

fantastically  painted.  A  new  one  is  made  for  every 
annual  Potlatch.  As  each  man  finished  his  dance,  he 
removed  his  mask  and  handed  it  to  the  Shaman,  who 
looked  intently  at  it,  making  "passes"  over  it  as  if  to 
exorcise  any  evil  spirits  which  might  linger  there. 
Then  he  placed  the  mask  upon  the  heap  in  the  corner. 
Some  of  them  were  very  curious ;  one  had  a  tongue  a 
yard  long  hanging  from  its  grinning  mouth.  This 
tongue  was  made  of  seal  intestine,  colored  red,  and 
being  hollow  could  be  blown  out  like  a  child's  toy.  As 
the  man  danced  he  projected  this  horrible  thing  at 
intervals.  I  suppose  that  it  meant  that  his  ancestor  in 
ancient  times  was  glib  of  tongue,  garrulous,  if  not 
wise.  This  mask  came  from  the  Stebbins  potlatch, 
though  against  the  wishes  and  advice  of  the  Shaman. 
He  warned  that  unless  every  mask  were  burned  at  the 
end  of  the  festivities,  as  is  their  custom,  there  would 
be  great  scarcity  of  seals.  But  "Alex,"  the  Eskimo 
pilot,  insisted,  having  small  belief  in  their  tribal  super- 
stitions, and  no  respect  whatever  for  the  Shaman,  and 
as  he  was  the  principal  contributor  to  the  coming  feast, 
Alex  had  his  way,  and  we  took  three  masks.  As  it 
happened,  the  following  seal  catch  was  the  largest  they 
had  known  for  years.  It  is  these  things  which  are 
undermining  the  Shamans  everywhere  the  white  man 
goes.  My  mask  is  not  so  elaborate.  The  forehead  is 
white,  one  side  of  the  face  red,  the  other  blue.  A  sort 
of  lizard  lies  across  the  top.  This  interesting  reptile  is 
shaped  like  a  barber-pole,  has  a  black  head  with  many 
teeth,  and  eight  or  ten  legs.  The  ridge  over  the  eyes 
of  the  mask  is  continued  in  the  long  graceful  nose 
which  curves  to  the  left.  The  mouth  is  generous,  and 
in  shape  that  of  the  crescent  moon,  with  points  turning 
upwards.  It  is  provided  with  as  many  long  white  pegs 
as  could  be  crowded  into  the  space,  and  a  red  tongue 


THE  POTLATCH  73 

hangs  out  from  between  them.  One  oblique  eye  is 
watching  the  other,  which  is  round,  and  from  which, 
representing  a  hole  in  the  ice,  a  seal  head  is  emerging. 
I  don't  claim  for  my  mask  beauty  that  would  appeal  to 
the  masses,  but,  as  people  say  of  a  great  heiress  whose 
face  it  would  be  obvious  irony  to  call  pretty,  there  is 
a  good  deal  in  it. 

Both  the  men  and  women  dancers  held  upon  their 
fingers  what  I  call  "dancing  knuckles,"  for  lack  of  the 
proper  name.  These  are  of  wood,  brightly  colored  and 
oddly  decorated.  Here  are  two  pairs.  One  has  the 
spines  of  long  feathers  thrust  into  holes.  At  the  ends 
bunches  of  down  are  tied,  perhaps  to  signify  that  the 
owner's  heart  and  feet  are  light.  The  other  pair  has 
a  fringe  of  caribou  whiskers,  feeling  and  looking  like 
fibers  of  weather-beaten  rope.  You  will  notice,  what 
is  always  the  case,  that  each  pair  has  a  merry  face  and 
a  sad  one,  "from  lively  to  severe."  They  seem  to 
signify  the  twin  children  of  Life,  Grief  being  the  first- 
born, the  stronger  and  larger ;  Joy  the  weakling  who 
dies  in  youth.  They  represent  the  universal  tragedy 
and  comedy  which  the  overlapping  masks  in  our 
theaters  signify. 

The  dancing  continued  some  time.  The  men  now 
came  out  in  twos  and  threes,  as  their  rank  declined. 
All  but  one  the  Shaman's  voice  extolled,  but  him  he 
mercilessly  ridiculed  before  all  his  tribe.  Finally,  all 
the  young  men  who  had  not  distinguished  themselves 
by  killing  seals  came  out  and  danced  in  one  party,  but 
the  young  girls  were  not  allowed  to  appear.  Killing  a 
seal  is  the  shibboleth,  so  to  speak,  among  the  Eski- 
mo. They  wear,  by  the  way,  when  hunting,  a  very 
curious  helmet  made  of  light  wood,  trimmed  at  the 
back  with  a  large  number  of  the  long  narrow  feathers 
of  the  sea  parrot  thrust  into  holes  in  an  ivory  ring  on 


74          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

the  back  of  the  bonnet.  It  is  a  most  ludicrous  affair, 
but  serves  two  purposes,  shielding  the  face  from  the 
glare  of  the  snow,  and  bringing  luck  to  the  huntsman. 

They  use  in  walrus  hunting  a  spear,  the  end  of 
which  is  cut  from  a  walrus  tusk,  engraved  with  scenes 
from  the  slaughter. 

Children  were  bestowed  under  the  benches  to  econo- 
mize space.  In  the  elegant  language  of  our  young 
friend,  "You  could  have  knocked  off  their  eyes  with  a 
club,"  as  they  watched  the  proceedings.  Some  of 
them  had  masks,  and  every  now  and  then  one  of  these 
would  poke  out  his  head  and  boast  what  he  would  do 
when  he  grew  to  be  a  man — just  you  wait  till  he  showed 
you. 

O,  little  Eskimo,  you  of  the  yellow  face  and  spark- 
ling eyes,  we  have  also  boasted  in  our  youth.  We 
intended  to  be  wise  and  powerful,  to  think  noble 
thoughts  and  express  them  in  world-thrilling  deeds, 
but  we  have  ignominiously  failed,  not  only  to  do,  but 
to  be.  Even  the  fire  of  our  enthusiasm  has  died  out, 
and  we  sit  by  the  ashes  of  our  hopes  shivering  as  we 
hear  the  blasts  shriek  by  our  lonely  hearts,  for  the 
winter  of  life  has  come,  and  darkness  has  fallen.  We 
are  too  cold,  it  is  too  late,  for  the  beautiful  things  we 
meant  to  do. 

All  wore  their  finest  furs,  were  newly  greased  and 
painted,  sported  their  most  ancient  labrets  and  any 
finery  obtained  during  the  year.  One  woman  had  a 
rarely  beautiful  necklace,  which  hung  to  her  waist, 
catching  the  light  and  the  others'  envy.  It  was  a  yard  of 
the  tinsel  which  glistens  upon  Christmas  trees.  Another 
wore  a  unique  belt,  and  as  metal  girdles  of  cunning 
workmanship  are  now  so  much  admired,  I  mention  this, 
thinking  it  might  contain  a  valuable  suggestion.  It 
was  formed  entirely  of  the  keys  of  sardine  boxes,  with 


THE  POTLATCH  75 

the  tin  hanging  in  the  "cutest"  spirals.  The  belle  who 
wore  this  evidently  lived  near  a  mining  town,  and  had 
gradually  "picked  them  up,"  as  a  true  connoisseur  does 
his  diamonds,  here  and  there.  But  I  fear  this  will 
savor  of  a  society  "write-up;"  no  more  of  clothes. 
Speaking  of  women,  however,  reminds  me  of  Alex's 
wife,  3'oung  and  not  bad  looking.  She  had  received 
rather  more  attention  than  she  could  bear  in  seemly 
Eskimo  manner,  and  actually  started  to  precede  her 
husband  in  retiring  behind  a  curtain.  Alex  has  been 
much  with  the  whites,  and  would  perhaps  overlook  some 
things  in  his  wife  after  witnessing  the  unbridled  liber- 
ties taken  by  American  women,  but  this  affront,  public, 
too,  demanded  severe  measures.  He  pushed  her  roughly 
away,  then  suddenly  turned  and  dragged  the  presum- 
ing woman  behind  the  curtain,  while  a  torrent  of  x's, 
which  were  evidently  Eskimo  for  d's,  flowed  from 
his  lips.  Mrs.  Alex  was  very  meek  and  mild  all  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  If  her  husband  has  so  much  to 
bear  with  her,  it  is  well  she  is  an  only  wife.  Other 
leading  Eskimo  have  two  and  three  wives  if  they  can 
afford  the  luxury. 

When  the  dancing  was  ended,  a  grass  mat  curtain 
was  drawn,  discovering  the  men  divided  into  two  com- 
panies, one  representing  the  Malemutes,  the  other  the 
Yukon  Indians,  who  proceeded  to  advocate  the  advan- 
tages each  people  possessed  over  the  other.  "You," 
shouted  the  "Indians,"  scornfully,  "you  no  king  sal- 
mon." 

"Ha,"  sneered  the  "Eskimo,"  "you  starve  without 
tomcod  and  delicious  seal  oil." 

"As  if  need  were  for  more  than  moose!' 

"Make  you  lufdacks  and  mukluks?" 

"Your  silly  skin  boats, — but  you  have  no  birchbark," 
in  tones  of  insulting  pity.  So  the  companies  continue 


76          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

their  taunts  and  ironical  condolences  till  they  can  frame 
no  more,  when  the  Shaman  decides  that  the  poor  silly 
Indians  are  indeed  unfortunates  and  consequently 
deserving  only  contempt;  that  the  Eskimo  are  the 
most,  and  indeed  the  only,  favored  people  in  the 
world,  their  country  most  inviting,  their  food  richest, 
their  men  bravest,  etc,  etc. — it  might  be  contending 
English  or  Frenchmen,  except  that  nothing  is  said 
upon  either  side  of  the  beauty  and  graces  of  their 
women. 

The  Shaman  next,  with  appropriate  passes  and  songs, 
talked  up  the  down-covered  funnel  to  the  dead.  There 
was  something  fine  in  their  thought  of  those  who  had 
gone  from  them,  as  these  "barbarians"  paused  in 
their  pleasures  to  include  the  dead.  At  the  time,  how- 
ever, only  the  ludicrous  side  showed.  The  huge  funnel 
resembled  an  immense  ear-trumpet,  held  to  the  deaf 
ears  of  the  dead  to  convey  the  greeting  of  the  quick. 
If  they  did  not  hear  that,  there  is  no  reasonable  doubt 
that  they  must  have  done  the  pandemonium  which 
ensued.  It  began  with  an  ear-splitting,  long-drawn 
yell  from  the  Shaman.  Then,  for  fully  half  an  hour, 
every  man,  woman  and  child,  throwing  back  the  head, 
made  the  loudest  noise  possible  by  the  greatest  effort 
of  lungs  and  throat.  One  imitated  the  snort  of  the 
seal,  another  the  shrill  scream  of  the  wild  goose,  another 
the  solitary  cry  of  the  loon,  another,  most  exactly,  the 
splash  of  water  as  the  terrified  beaver  sought  refuge 
from  the  hunter,  or  the  bark  of  the  walrus.  Some  of 
the  imitations  were  wonderfully  exact.  The  pande- 
monium cannot  be  described,  however.  As  near  as  I 
could  make  out,  this  is  a  general  compliment  and 
appeal  to  the  spirits  of  these  various  animals  and  birds 
that  they  furnish  them  in  numbers  to  the  needy  and 
appreciative  earth-born  who  call  upon  them. 


THE  POTLATCH  77 

After  this  the  time  for  the  reconciliation  of  enemies 
arrived.  The  Shaman  played  peacemaker,  the  only 
respectable  role  I  have  known  one  to  appear  in.  He 
drew  two  men  together,  clasped  their  unwilling  hands, 
made  passes  over  them  and  begged  them  to  be  brothers. 
At  first  they  gripped  each  other  and  wrestled  violently. 
When  both  were  exhausted,  they  fell  upon  each  other's 
breasts  like  Romeo  and  Juliet,  retired  to  a  corner,  put 
their  arms  about  each  other  and  presented  a  rather 
ridiculous  spectacle  of  brotherly  love  carried  to 
extremes.  Then  there  was  more  wrestling  for  honor. 
Stripped  to  the  waist,  they  were  a  strange  picture  in  a 
fantastic  frame.  The  victor  was  feted,  the  defeated 
fed  with  frozen  berries.  This  was  a  notable  departure 
from  our  time-honored  practice  of  forgetting  the  van- 
quished quite.  All  is  for  the  winner,  as  if  winning 
itself  were  not  honor  enough. 

Then  all  the  guests  sat  about  the  Kajim,  and  the 
donations  were  piled  in  the  center.  Alex  had  fur- 
nished the  largest  amount,  and  naturally  assumed 
command  all  same  white  man.  There  were  wooden 
bowls  filled  with  something  that  resembled  cottage- 
cheese,  flour, — Alex  had  donated  the  unheard-of  gift  of 
two  sacks, — tea,  sugar,  leaf  tobacco,  drill,  etc.  Alex 
took  of  each,  tendered  some  first  to  the  Shaman, 
put  others  in  a  place  apart  for  the  general  feast,  and 
passed  down  the  line  dealing  out  what  he  considered 
fair  to  each  one.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  he  stopped 
before  the  aged,  the  blind,  the  crippled,  and  dipped 
twice  and  thrice  to  cries  of  "good,  good."  One  palsied 
man  was  served  with  especial  generosity.  Among  the 
Southeastern  Alaska  natives,  this  kindness  is  not  shown 
at  a  potlatch.  It  is  conducted,  as  are  the  Four  Hun- 
dred's social  affairs,  on  the  principle,  "Them  as  'as, 
gits." 


78          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

After  the  division  of  the  goods,  all  hands  fell  upon 
the  feast  remaining  in  the  center,  and  gorged  till  it 
seemed  their  bodies  could  not  contain  such  vast 
quantities  of  whale  blubber,  etc. ,  as  they  stowed  away. 
Among  them  it  is  an  honored  maxim  to  eat  when  there 
is  food,  against  the  day  when  there  is  none.  This  Pot- 
latch  was  remarkable,  too,  in  being  without  one  case  of 
drunkenness.  Most  of  them  end  in  most  bestial  intoxi- 
cation and  dreadful  scenes.  Having  risen  up  to  eat, 
they  now  sat  down  to  play.  The  great  American  game 
of  poker,  with  bits  of  lead  for  chips,  was  the  favorite, 
though  an  Eskimo  game  of  antiquity  played  something 
like  checkers  with  pyramids,  had  its  devotees.  Con- 
trary to  custom,  the  Stebbinsites  had  brought  their 
arms  and  now  wagered  them,  as  their  most  precious 
belongings,  on  the  turn  of  a  card.  One  went  home 
that  night  enriched  by  three  rifles  and  two  axes, 
another  much  prized  article.  Like  other  barbarians, 
Eskimo  or  white,  the  Malemutes  are  eager  gamblers, 
so  while  the  men  played  on  and  on,  the  women 
gossiped  as  they  gathered  their  share  of  the  feast 
and  carried  it  to  their  homes,  returning  afterward 
to  pick  up  any  little  lump  of  grease  that  might  have 
been  overlooked,  and  to  eat  with  relish  the  flour  that 
had  sifted  down  upon  the  filth  and  oil  on  the  floor, 
licking  it  from  their  fingers  with  enjoyment  which 
almost  settled  your  stomach  to  the  disgusting  pro- 
ceeding. 

Finally,  the  fire  smouldered,  the  last  dainty  had  been 
eaten,  the  games  lagged,  the  women  yawned — you 
know  it  all.  At  three  of  the  clock  the  Potlatch  ended. 
It  was  not  an  elegant  entertainment,  the  viands  were 
not  rich  nor  served  in  costly  plate,  the  orchestra  was 
poor,  the  dancing  neither  voluptuous  nor  graceful,  the 
costumes  were  hideous  and  the  manners  primitive,  but 


THE  POTLATCH  79 

recalling  the  dazzling  scene  of  a  swell  cotillon  the 
contrast  was  no  greater  in  externals  than  in  the  spirit 
of  the  two  social  events,  and  in  the  latter  sense,  me- 
thinks,  the  Potlatch  was  more  truly  civilized  than  the 
German.  , 


CHAPTER  VI 

KUTLIK,  HUNTING   AND   FISHING 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  guide  my  steps  aright. 

(To  a  Waterfowl  by  William  Cullen  Bryant.) 

One  need  recall  a  song  of  faith  upon  the  desolate 
tundras  which  stretch  far  and  wide  along  the  lower 
Yukon,  in  a  lonely  silence  broken  only  by  the  shrill 
scream  of  the  waterfowl.  Since  I  have  seen  them,  if 
any  speak  to  me  of  the  dullness  and  monotony  of  life, 
before  my  mind's  eye  stands  a  swarthy,  brawny  man 
who  for  forty  years  has  never  been  out  of  Alaska,  and 
whose  home  for  three  decades  has  been  upon  the  edge 
of  a  slough  in  the  midst  of  a  tundra.  To  me  it  would 
have  been  the  veritable  "Slough  of  Despond,"  into 
which  I  should  long  ago  have  sunk  to  my  very  heart  and 
brain.  As  we  strove  to  talk  together,  it  was  not  so 
much  that  he  knew  little  English  and  I  less  Russian 
that  we  could  not  understand  each  other.  It  was 
rather  because  we  were  of  different  worlds.  Said  I, 
more  to  myself  than  to  him,  looking  at  the  two  or 
three  lowly  cabins  facing  the  waste,  "And  this  is  home 
to  you,  you  like  this  place?"  His  face  brightened. 
"Oh,  yes,  he  very  nice  place.  Bird  fly  many,  fish  so 
long"  (measuring  the  length  with  his  great  hands) 
"plenty  of  all;  very  nice  place,  stay  always."  The 
tundra  was  dreary  and  monotonous  then,  under  a  smil- 
ing sky.  As  he  spoke,  I  pictured  it  amid  the  twilight 

of  an  Arctic  winter,  frozen  and  dead  beneath  its  pall 

so 


KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING        81 

of  snow,  the  bitter  wind  sweeping  across  the  barren, 
without  even  a  tree  to  break  its  force  nor  to  whisper  a 
hope  of  returning  warmth  and  light;  nothing  to  see, 
nowhere  to  go,  no  books — I  should  go  mad. 

When  Komkoff  first  came  to  these  tundras  as  trader 
among  the  Eskimo,  there  were  one  thousand  living 
just  at  hand,  now  there  are  but  two.  Although  con- 
siderably past  seventy  years  of  age,  he  does  not  look 
more  than  fifty,  and  can  travel  afoot  behind  his  dog- 
sled  forty  miles  a  day  with  ease.  He  brings  all  his 
goods  from  St.  Michael,  by  land  sixty  miles  distant, 
hauling  them  by  dog-sled  in  winter  to  save  freighting, 
and  never  spending  more  than  a  day  and  a  half  on  the 
way,  though  this  part  of  the  country  is  noted  for  its 
terrific  gales.  His  post  is  named  Kootalik,  or  Kutlik, 
and  is  seventy-seven  miles  from  St.  Michael  by  way  of 
Norton  Sound  and  the  Yukon  delta,  where  the  many 
mouths  of  the  great  river  discharge  one-third  more 
water  than  does  the  Mississippi,  and  freshen  the  sea 
ten  miles  out.  Yukon,  as  Mr.  O' Gil  vie  was  at  pains  to 
discover,  is  from  Yukon-a,  an  Indian  word  which  means 
"the  big  river."  Mr.  Bell,  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany, first  applied  it  as  a  name  in  1846.  The  Yukon  rises 
in  the  British  Columbia  Rockies,  2,600  miles  from  the 
Bering  Sea  and  not  more  than  125  miles  from  Juneau, 
being  formed  by  the  Lewis  and  the  Pelly  rivers.  Its 
delta  is  65  miles  across,  a  series  of  sloughs,  many  of 
them  almost  dry,  which  divide  from  the  main  river 
160  miles  up. 

Komkoff,  his  earrings  giving  an  odd  touch  to  his 
heavy  face,  is  as  much  at  home  in  a  kiak  as  an 
Eskimo,  and  in  a  bog  as  a  duck.  He  came  to  the 
Healy  both  walking  and  paddling,  and,  for  all  I  know, 
swimming.  He  plodded  along  the  tundra,  pulling  his 
boat  after  him,  and  lightly  leaped  into  it  when  he 


82          THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

came  to  the  water.  One  of  our  pilots  met  an  old 
friend  at  Kootalik,  and  went  ashore  with  him  in  a 
single  kiak.  Being  the  guest,  "Alexis"  entered  the 
tippy  skin  skiff  first  and  disposed  of  himself  at  full 
length  in  the  bottom  of  one  end,  breathing  through 
his  hands,  at  least  they  were  all  that  was  visible. 
Then  his  friend  entered  the  kiak,  entirely  filling  the 
small  opening  in  the  middle,  which  is  its  only  airhole, 
and  rapidly  paddled  off.  It  must  have  been  a  most 
enjoyable  ride  for  Alexis.  Soon  after,  two  more  kiaks 
came  up,  a  stick  was  laid  across  them,  and  another 
native  seated  himself  securely  upon  it  while  they  all 
chatted  and  laughed  as  they  paddled  away.  These 
men  had  brought  strings  of  duck,  wild  goose,  and 
other  game  from  the  flats  about  us,  to  sell  to  the  boat. 
I  shall  always  have  a  real  affection  for  that  Healy  cook — 
how  he  could  serve  game ! 

It  has  been  said  that  good  Americans  when  they  die 
go  to  Paris.  Good  sportsmen  might  think  themselves  in 
an  angler's,  if  not  an  angel's,  paradise,  were  they  to 
suddenly  awaken  upon  these  tundras  at  the  delta  of 
the  Yukon,  for  seventy  miles  the  breeding  grounds 
of  millions  of  wild  fowl  of  every  kind.  Teal,  green- 
winged,  best  of  all  ducks  for  the  table,  and  blue- 
winged,  mallard,  blue-bill,  pintail,  red-head,  golden- 
eyed,  swan,  loon,  eider — are  there  any  other  members 
of  the  duck  family?  Be  sure,  they  may  be  found  with 
their  brethren  at  the  old  homestead,  "Shore  Acres." 
When  Alaska  is  permanently  settled,  and  industries 
suited  to  its  condition  arise,  eiders  will  probably  be 
protected  in  preserves,  as  in  Norway  and  Iceland,  for 
their  down.  This  the  mother  bird  plucks  from  her 
breast  to  keep  her  eggs  warm  when  she  leaves  the 
nest.  It  seems  cruel  twice  to  rob  her  both  of  down  and 
eggs.  But  mother  love  is  strong  even  in  a  bird.  For 


KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING         83 

the  third  time  she  lays  her  nest  full,  but,  having  bared 
her  own  breast,  the  father-bird  picks  the  inferior  down 
from  his,  and  the  young  are  hatched.  Each  nest  pro- 
duces about  half  a  pound  of  this  costly  "live"  down  a 
year,  and  eider  eggs  are  a  delicacy.  The  Alaskan 
natives,  by  the  way,  are  the  only  ones  this  side  the 
Atlantic  who  can  dress  eider  skins.  In  the  States  they 
must  be  sent  to  Holland.  I  have  a  most  beauti- 
ful parka  made  entirely  of  eider  breasts.  The 
smooth  gray  is  bordered  on  each  side  by  the  short 
standing  feathers,  and  the  hood  and  bottom  are 
fringed  with  fur  to  match.  Swans  are  also  found 
in  the  lower  Yukon,  and  their  skins  are  used  by  the 
Indians.  I  have  a  unique  bed  cover,  made  double, 
entirely  of  swan  breasts.  The  native  women  tanned 
it  by  chewing  the  skin  all  over,  then  neatly  pieced  it, 
using  fiber  for  thread.  Swans,  you  remember,  used  to 
be  served  whole  in  their  feathers  at  court  banquets. 
In  1306,  at  the  solemn  feast  which  celebrated  his  son's 
knighthood,  King  Edward  vowed  by  the  swan,  which 
formed  the  chief  dish,  to  pursue  his  policy.  In  Eng- 
land, even  yet,  wild  swan  are  "birds-royal,"  and 
belong  to  the  crown.  The  painting  of  the  "Russian 
Wedding  Feast"  depicts  the  honored  bird  at  table. 
Ptarmigan  is  Arctic  grouse,  speckled  brown  in  sum- 
mer, snow  white  in  winter  except  for  a  black  hair-line 
down  the  spine  of  each  feather.  Ptarmigan  are  timid, 
and  are  so  protected  by  their  color  that  a  covey  has 
been  known  to  rise  close  by  the  sportsman  who  had 
not  perceived  them.  They  are  much  prized  for  the 
table.  As  for  snipe,  jack-snipe!  A  man  who  brings 
in  a  good  bag  of  jack-snipe  needs  no  other  trumpeter. 
When  startled,  jack-snipe  rise  rapidly,  changing  their 
course  and  zigzagging  through  the  air  so  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  get  a  shot  at  one.  As  Josh  Bil- 


84  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

lings  says,  "The  fust  thing  you  see  iz  a  whizz,  and  the 
last  is  a  whirr."  Jack-snipe  are  so  delicious  that  they 
have  been  bred,  but  it  takes  a  man  all  his  time  to  feed 
the  greedy  things,  while  worms  do  not  grow  fast 
enough  to  appease  their  voracious  appetites.  A  tame 
snipe  has  been  known  to  eat  twice  his  weight  of  worms 
in  twelve  hours!  Alaska,  by  the  way,  is  almost  des- 
titute of  worms,  not  from  the  presence  of  jack- 
snipe,  it  may  be  unnecessary  to  mention,  but  because 
the  ground  freezes  so  deep.  Speaking  of  worms 
reminds  me  of  little  Doris,  who  was  punished  one  day 
last  summer  and  who  repaired  to  the  garden.  When 
she  came  in  her  mother  said,  "Well,  dearie,  are  you 
sorry  you  were  naughty?"  " No, "  retorted  Doris,  "I'm 
not,  but  I  got  even  with  you;  I've  eaten  three  worms, 
two  plain  and  one  woolly"  (a  caterpillar). 

Among  the  Yukon  flats,  cranes  may  be  seen  by  dozens 
standing,  long-legged  and  solemn  upon  the  sandbars 
or  dancing  with  side-splitting  gravity.  Their  flesh  is 
better  than  turkey,  and  their  eggs,  though  larger  than 
goose  eggs,  very  delicate.  A  crane  egg  omelette  is 
something  for  an  epicure.  Then  there  are  golden 
plover,  and  curlews  with  their  long  bills  and  tails, 
loons  whose  breasts  and  down  are  used  for  feather  caps 
and  trimming;  prairie  chickens,  which  are  especially 
plentiful  on  the  Tanana  river,  wild  geese  without 
number,  and  a  sort  of  bird  new  to  me,  with  legs  like  a 
snipe's  and  tail  like  a  pheasant's.  The  emperor 
goose,  huge  and  beautiful,  is  found  in  the  retired 
sloughs  of  the  delta  near  Kutlik.  He  is  sport,  indeed. 
His  flesh  and  feathers  are  strong  enough  of  garlic  to 
make  one  ill  before  he  is  cooked,  but  you  should  taste 
him  afterward! 

At  breeding  time  it  is  foolish  to  waste  ammunition. 
Fowl  can  be  killed  by  dozens  with  a  short  club,  and 


KUTLIK,   HUNTING  AND  FISHING        85 

taken  away  in  boatloads.  As  for  eggs,  it  is  impossible 
to  compute  their  numbers.  Near  St.  Michael  lies  Egg 
Island,  to  which  the  Eskimo  resort.  At  breeding 
time,  it  is  literally  covered  with  eggs.  It  is  impossible 
to  walk  without  trampling  upon  them. 

Fowling  for  sport,  causing  the  death  of  pretty  inno- 
cents for  fun,  seems  pure  brutality  to  me. 

Is  this  a  fancy  which  our  reason  scorns? 

Ah !  surely  nothing  dies  but  something  mourns. 

But  men  could  make  a  good  living  on  the  Yukon 
flats  supplying  both  ocean  and  river  steamers  with 
game  and  eggs  for  winter  sale. 

There  are  very  few  singing  birds  in  Alaska,  it  struck 
me.  I  heard  scarcely  a  twitter  all  the  time  I  was  in 
the  country.  Perhaps  even  the  birds  feel  the  vastness 
and  stillness  and  are  silenced.  A  miner  said  to  me, 
"I  used  to  be  always  singing,  whistling,  laughing. 
Now  I  am  startled  if  I  hear  any  sound  from  my  lips. 
I  am  growing  taciturn,  too.  I  think  it's  the  effect  of 
the  country.  I've  noticed  it  in  other  men." 

A  little  snow-bird  sings,  they  say,  though  I  didn't 
hear  one,  and  I  am  told  there  are  larks,  though  I  saw 
none.  I  noticed  some  cliffs  upon  the  Yukon  that  are 
honeycombed  with  martin  holes,  and  there  are  robin- 
redbreasts  and  humming  birds.  I  saw  a  bird  strange 
to  me,  dark  gray,  with  a  high  red  pompadour  on  his 
head.  The  Arctic  owl  is  large  and  gray,  in  winter 
pure  white,  and  he  makes  night  hideous  with  his  silly 
wisdom.  I'm  old  enough  to  know  better,  but  owls 
seem  uncanny  to  me.  They  look  as  if  they  possessed 
some  weird  secret  which  they  knew  you'd  like  to  hear, 
but  which  they  don't  intend  to  tell  you.  When  I  was 
a  child,  we  used  to  try  to  peer  into  the  face  of  one  we 
caught.  It  made  me  shivery.  The  owl  would  turn  its 
head  like  lightning,  apparently  entirely  around,  as  if  it 


86  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

were  on  a  pivot.  I  used  to  dream  of  that  mysterious 
bird ;  to  me  it  was  almost  as  dreadful  as  a  ghost.  Barry 
Cornwall  must  have  felt  as  I  did  when  he  wrote  of 

THE  OWL. 

In  the  hollow  tree,  in  the  old  gray  tower, 

The  spectral  owl  doth  dwell ; 
Dull,  hated,  despised,  in  the  sunshine  hour, 

But  at  dusk  he's  abroad  and  well ! 
Not  a  bird  of  the  forest  e'er  mates  with  him; 

All  mock  him  outright  by  day ; 
But  at  night  when  the  woods  grow  still  and  dim, 

The  boldest  will  shrink  away. 

O,  when  the  night  falls,  and  roosts  the  fowl, 
Then,  then  is  the  reign  of  the  horned  owl. 

And  the  owl  hath  a  bride,  who  is  fond  and  bold, 

And  loveth  the  wood's  deep  gloom ; 
And  with  eyes  like  the  shine  of  the  moonstone  cold, 

She  awaiteth  her  ghastly  groom ; 
Not  a  feather  she  moves,  not  a  carol  she  sings, 

As  she  waits  in  her  tree  so  still ; 
But  when  her  heart  heareth  his  flapping  wings, 

She  hoots  out  her  welcome  shrill ! 

O,  when  the  moon  shines,  and  dogs  do  howl, 
Then,  then  is  the  joy  of  the  horned  owl ! 

Mourn  not  for  the  owl  and  his  gloomy  plight, 

The  owl  hath  his  share  of  good: 
If  a  prisoner  he  be  in  the  broad  daylight, 

He  is  lord  of  the  dark  green  wood ! 
Nor  lonely  the  bird,  nor  his  ghastly  mate, 

They  are  each  unto  each  a  pride ; 
Thrice  fonder,  perhaps,  since  a  strange,  dark  fate 
Hath  rent  them  from  all  beside ! 

So,  when  the  night  falls,  and  dogs  do  howl, 
Sing  ho !  for  the  reign  of  the  horned  owl ! 
We  know  not  alway 
Who  are  kings  by  day, 
But  the  king  of  the  night  is  the  bold  brown  owl  I 


KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING         87 

Surely,  the  fisheries  of  Alaska  are  inexhaustible. 
The  coasts,  the  Yukon  and  other  large  rivers,  and  the 
mountain  streams  teem  with  fish  of  every  scale.  Some 
of  Alaska's  future  exports  will  be  the  salt  cod,  isin- 
glass, codliver  oil  and  sounds.  Tom  cod  are  found  near 
St.  Michael  and  a  little  way  up  the  Yukon.  If  you 
wish  to  catch  either  women  or  fish,  it  is  best  to  go 
about  it  unmindful  of  the  old  adage,  "There  are  as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  yet  were  caught."  Study 
your  bait.  Women  like  small  courtesies ;  torn  cod  like 
crabs.  In  the  lower  river  millions,  literally  millions, 
of  black  fish  are  caught.  They  are  from  four  to  six  or 
seven  inches  long,  and  unfortunately  strongly  resemble 
leeches,  but  they  are  sweetest  fish  that  swim,  and  are 
eaten  like  sardines,  bones  and  all.  The  uliken,  or  can- 
dle fish,  is  a  curious  phosphorescent  fish,  rare,  small, 
and  very  delicate  in  flavor.  In  the  Yukon,  burbot 
attains  the  weight  of  six  or  seven  pounds.  Its  meat  is 
white  and  firm,  like  a  pollock's.  It  is  of  the  cod  fam- 
ily, and  the  oil  from  its  liver  is  commercially  valuable. 
Pike,  pickerel,  suckers,  herring,  abound.  The  clear 
cold  mountain  streams  are  filled  with  white  fish,  trout, 
lake  cod  and  salmon  trout.  Bluefish,  a  delicate  pan- 
fish,  shaped  like  a  trout,  are  ten  or  twelve  inches  long 
in  these  limpid  waters.  In  the  East,  they  are  salt- 
water denizens.  In  clear  water,  too,  grayling  are 
caught  by  the  barrelful.  If  cooked  when  first  taken 
from  the  water,  their  odor  is  that  of 

"A  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  grows." 

One  fisherman  told  me  that  he  had  taken  a  ton  a  day. 
They  can  be  caught  at  retail  with  the  greatest  ease,  for 
the  silly  things  will  rise  to  a  black  thread  on  a  hook. 

If  you're  a  genuine  angler,  however,  salmon  is  the 
fish  worthy  of  your  skill.  "King"  salmon  run  first, 


83          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

when  ice  breaks  up,  and  they  last  about  three  weeks; 
next  come  the  beautiful  "silver"  salmon,  and  last  the 
"dog,"  so  called  because,  being  driest,  it  is  fed  to  the 
dogs  in  winter,  rations  being  one  to  each  working 
dog.  The  frozen  fish  is  thrown  into  the  ashes  of  the 
fire  till  the  skin  cracks.  -  King  salmon  is  the  richest, 
wariest  and  gamiest.  He  keeps  his  five  finny  wits 
right  with  him,  and  adroitly  escapes  all  traps  set  for 
him.  Indians  are  his  pet  enemy,  for  Indians  are  never 
rushed  for  time,  they  seem  to  have  already  entered 
upon  eternity  and  to  feel  that  they  have  aeons  to  burn, 
so  to  speak.  When  salmon-fishing,  an  Indian  sits  in 
his  canoe  for  hours,  perfectly  still,  watching  for  "the 
riffle."  King  salmon  swim  low,  but  the  red  man 
notes  the  tiny,  fast  moving  whirlpool  and  rapidly  pad- 
dles toward  the  "salmon  smoke."  There  he  suddenly 
stops  the  canoe,  steadies  it  with  the  paddle  over  one 
side,  dextrously  catches  the  struggling  fish  in  his  net 
over  the  other  side.  Then  he  strikes  a  heavy  blow  at 
head  and  tail  with  a  short  club,  for  a  salmon  is  uglier 
than  you  would  think  a  fish  could  be,  and  "the  king 
is  dead :  long  live  the  king ! ' ' 

If  you  catch  a  salmon  by  hook  and  line,  you  must 
take  at  least  a  full  half  hour  and  the  greatest  care,  to 
land  him  at  all.  On  the  Yukon  he  weighs  forty,  fifty 
pounds,  sometimes  more.  Salmon  are  beautifully 
shaped  and  built  for  speed,  long  and  tapering  at  both 
ends.  They  have  been  known  to  swim  1,500  feet  a 
minute,  but  cannot  keep  up  that  tremendous  speed 
long,  of  course.  They  are  wonderfully  strong,  and 
make  good  headway  against  a  very  swift  current. 
They  leap  barriers  and  falls  twelve  and  fourteen  feet 
high,  and  attempt  much  higher  ones.  They  advance 
upon  such  barricades  as  bravely  and  persistently  as  a 
column  of  soldiers,  and  failing  to  scale  them,  will  leap 


KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING        89 

again  and  again  till  they  die  of  exhaustion  and  float 
in  numbers  upon  the  surface,  yet  others  heroically 
take  their  places  to  gain  the  heights.  Late  in  the 
winter,  salmon  are  obtained  in  the  Porcupine  River, 
so  late  that  they  freeze  as  soon  as  they  are  taken  from 
the  water.  Fully  two  hundred  miles  up  this  river  stood 
an  old  Hudson  Bay  trading  post,  where  a  little  stream 
winds  into  the  Porcupine.  About  sixty  miles  up  this 
is  a  high  ledge  of  rock  which  entirely  bars  the  river. 
This  is  the  salmon's  Waterloo — Trafalgar,  would  per- 
haps be  more  appropriate.  They  try  to  leap  this 
ledge  to  spawn  in  the  smooth  water  above,  but  there 
stand  the  Indians  spear  in  hand,  and  the  slaughter  is 
tremendous.  A  year  ago  in  September,  one  man 
spent  two  days  upon  the  ledge  and  speared  2,000  sal- 
mon. It  sounds  exaggerated,  but  having  seen  these 
audacious  fish  immolated  to  the  handle  upon  a  pitch- 
fork on  the  Frazer  and  in  other  places,  I  do  not  doubt 
the  tale.  Salmon  is  the  entire  living  of  the  Indians  on 
the  Yukon  in  winter.  They  split  the  fish,  and  hang 
them  to  dry  in  the  sun  upon  the  fishracks  to  be  seen  at 
every  Indian  village.  The  fish  are  stored  in  their 
caches.  It  does  seem  as  if  they  might  dry  enough,  but 
they  generally  hunger  before  spring.  The  odor  of 
dried  salmon — I  much  prefer  violet — floats  with  all  the 
river  boats.  Some  people,  white  people,  like  to  eat 
dried  salmon  uncooked.  I  don't.  I  always  like  to 
taste  novelties,  but  my  advice  as  to  salted  seal  meat, 
of  which  the  Aleutians  are  very  fond,  and  dried  salmon 
is,  Don't!  The  latter,  however,  is  good  cooked. 

Speaking  of  water  sport,  beluga  whales  are  found  in 
numbers  near  St.  Michael's  Island,  and  sometimes 
venture  into  the  lower  Yukon ;  hair  seals,  too.  If  you 
can't  earn  your  spurs  you  might  your  boots,  and  attach 
the  spurs  to  the  mukluks  later. 


90          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

There  is  plenty  of  large  game  in  Alaska  too,  but  it 
must  be  sought  back  in  the  mountains.  Bear  of  every 
hue  but  green  are  plenty,  black,  brown,  cinnamon, 
silver-tip,  and  grizzly.  In  the  southeastern  part,  near 
Mt.  St.  Elias,  the  grizzlies  are  the  largest  in  the  world 
and  very  fierce.  The  moose  along  White  River  are 
the  largest  on  the  continent.  A  miner  called  "Win," 
because  of  his  luck  at  poker,  brought  down  with  us 
what  was  said  to  be  the  largest  moose  head  and  horns 
ever  seen.  "Win"  was  taking  it  "down  below,"  the 
Alaskan  expression  for  into  the  States.  It  had  eight- 
een clear  points  on  each  horn.  I  saw  another  moose 
head  which  had  a  spread  of  seventy-three  and  a  half 
inches.  A  grown  moose  weighs  five  hundred  pounds. 
Its  flesh  is  tender  and  palatable,  the  tips  of  the  horns 
when  "in  velvet"  are  highly  prized  for  soup,  and  the 
skin  is  valuable  both  to  Indians  and  to  whites.  One  of 
the  traders  told  me  of  an  Indian  named  Joseph  Strong- 
head,  who  was  out  on  his  snowshoes  one  day,  unarmed, 
but  carrying  a  stick.  He  met  a  large  moose  and 
actually  killed  it  with  the  stick  alone.  I  should  think 
his  tribe  would  rechristen  him  Maximus  Strong-Arm. 
I  see  no  reason  for  the  miners  of  Klondike  to  starve 
when  a  few  days'  hunting  is  almost  certain  to  run 
down  one  moose  at  least. 

Woodland  caribou  is  good  sport.  You  must  follow 
him  far  from  the  haunts  of  man.  He  is  swift,  strong, 
untamable,  a  savage ;  barren  land  caribou  is  the  bar^ 
barian  of  the  same  family,  and  reindeer  their  civilized 
brother.  Among  the  mountains  of  Southeast  Alaska, 
mountain  sheep  and  goats  are  found.  They  are  large, 
strong,  wild,  and  almost  as  good  sport,  I  should  imag- 
ine, as  the  chamois.  The  goat  has  small  black  horns, 
which  the  tribes  near  Sitka  use  for  the  handles  of  their 
"runcible"  spoons.  Under  the  coarse  hair  of  the 


KUTLIK,   HUNTING  AND  FISHING        91 

goat  is  a  fine  wool,  which  they  weave  for  their  cere- 
monial blankets  in  totemic  designs.  Mountain  sheep  leap 
from  rock  to  rock  when  pursued,  and  when  in  danger  are 
said  to  turn  somersaults  and  light  safely  upon  their  stout 
twisted  horns.  These  white  horns  are  steamed  and 
pressed  by  the  Indians  for  the  bowls  of  the  large  spoons 
made  by  the  Chilcats  for  ceremonies.  Here  is  the 
handsomest  one  I  have  ever  seen.  The  handle  termi- 
nates in  a  well  executed  albatross  head,  and  the  entire 
back  of  the  bowl  is  carved.  It  must  hold  a  full  quart. 
Yet  when  a  feast  is  held  to  admit  a  boy  into  full  tribal 
privileges,  he  must  drain  it  of  oil  at  one  draught,  a 
custom  like  that  of  the  king's  cup  in  Germany,  and  of 
the  Caucasian's  flagon,  which  will  not  stand  by  itself. 

Wolves  are  plentiful,  and  are  probably  the  progeni- 
tors of  the  Eskimo  dogs,  which  are  only  a  shade  less 
ugly.  Wolverines  are  also  common.  I  have  a  belt 
made  of  their  paws  which  I  bought  from  a  very  gaily 
appareled  Indian  girl.  It  was  fastened  by  a  large 
brass  clock  wheel,  which  she  so  evidently  regretted 
that  I  took  it  off  the  belt  and  returned  to  her. 

Rabbits  in  large  numbers  are  caught  by  the  Indians. 
The  snares  are  of  twisted  vegetable  fiber  strung  through 
the  top  of  a  stick  and  tied  around  it  so  that  each  can 
be  readily  removed.  The  Indian  breaks  a  narrow  path 
and  sets  these  little  nooses  at  intervals  with  bent 
twigs.  When  Br'er  Rabbit  runs  toward  the  bait,  he 
is  caught  in  the  noose,  the  trap  falls,  he  is  swung 
aloft  and  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  is  dead.  The 
next  day  t  he  Indian  gathers  his  rabbits  all  at  once. 

The  fur  trade  in  Alaska  is  not  what  it  was,  but  is  yet 
not  to  be  despised.  However,  if  you're  out  for  sport, 
what  care  you?  You  can  at  least  pose  as  Nimrod,  Jr., 
before  your  admiring  womankind  at  home,  and  bring 
them  furs  to  prove  the  justice  of  the  claim.  Lynx 


92          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

are  very  common,  but  very  fierce.  They  grow  large  in 
Alaska,  and  there's  the  excitement  of  danger  in  hunt- 
ing them.  A  lynx — "link,"  is  the  fashionable  pro- 
nunciation on  the  Yukon — is  of  the  wildcat  family,  and 
when  angered  curves  its  back,  erects  its  whiskers  and 
springs  just  as  Tabby  does  when  a  strange  dog  invades 
her  precincts.  Lynx  like  rabbits  immensely,  and 
this  taste  is  their  undoing.  The  Indian  bends  a 
young  sapling  down  over  a  rabbit  walk,  fastens  a  slip- 
knot of  stout  but  fine  sinew  to  it,  and  our  wildcat 
friend  furnishes  the  last  "link"  in  the  chain  of  occur- 
rences. Indians  also  catch  the  lynx  in  traps  baited  with 
a  bit  of  deer  or  moose  rubbed  with  grease  from  the 
beaver,  whose  faint  odor  attracts  the  lynx.  But  the 
native  does  not  fear  the  fierce  cat.  One  of  the 
Eskimo  reindeer  herders  one  day  discovered  a  lynx 
crouching  behind  a  tuft  of  dry  grass.  He  had  noth- 
ing but  his  lasso,  but  he  whipped  the  beast  with  that 
till  she  cowered  before  him,  when  he  killed  her  with 
one  blow  of  his  fist,  breaking  the  skull.  Lynx  skins 
fetch  two  to  three  dollars  in  trade  when  brought  to  the 
companies  by  the  Indians. 

Marten  are  quite  common  and  are  worth  about  a 
dollar  and  a  half  apiece,  but  mink  are  less  fashion- 
able, so  "the  Indian  whose  untutored  mind, "  etc.,  some- 
times neatly  sews  marten  tails  to  mink  skins  to  cheat  a 
green  trader.  Land  otter  are  not  to  be  compared 
either  in  beauty  or  price  to  the  sea  otter.  The  former 
are  smaller  and  have  a  flat  serrated  tail.  One  unused 
to  seeing  the  close  grayish  fur  of  the  dressed  beaver 
when  wearing  his  overcoat  of  shaggy,  coarse,  reddish 
hair  would  not  recognize  the  animal.  Even  mice,  and 
Arctic  mice  are  numerous,  have  soft,  heavy  coats  for 
winter.  Beavers  build  their  houses  under  a  bank, 
using  their  long  curved  teeth  to  fell  trees.  They  have 


KUTLIK,  HUNTING  AND  FISHING         93 

curious  trowel-like  tails,  flat,  without  hair,  but  scaled 
and  resembling  black  leather.  Perhaps  modern  build- 
ers took  the  pattern  of  their  trowels  from  this  more 
ancient  one.  Indians  sometimes  cut  through  three 
feet  of  ice  to  get  a  beaver,  and  I  regret  to  say  that 
they  have  learned  to  dampen  the  skin  so  that  gravel 
may  adhere  to  it,  for  they  sell  the  pelt  for  two  dollars 
a  pound,  trade.  The  beaver  castor  is  worth  from 
seven  to  ten  dollars  a  pound.  Beavers  have  the  cun- 
ningest  little  feet,  long,  narrow,  pointed,  something 
like  a  'possum's.  They  look,  too,  much  like  a  tiny 
woman's  hand  in  a  brown  glove.  Of  foxes,  there  are 
black,  red,  white,  blue,  silver-tip,  and  cross.  "Blue" 
foxes  are  now  quite  fashionable.  Silver-tips  are  rare 
and  very  beautiful,  and  cost  in  Alaska  from  fifty  to 
two  hundred  dollars.  It  was  amusing  to  note  the  face 
of  a  lady  I  saw  on  the  Yukon,  who  was  holding  on  her 
arm  a  magnificent  silver-tip,  a  recent  gift.  "Oh," 
exclaimed  another  who  had  just  come  into  the  country, 
"what  a  pretty  coon  skin."  Knowledge  of  furs  is  to 
be  graded  with  that  of  laces,  rugs  and  etchings.  I  was 
presented  with  a  beautiful  fox  skin,  flaunting  a  brush 
of  which  he  had  undoubtedly  been  proud.  Alas  and 
alack!  my  else  aristocratic  silver-tip  had  contracted  a 
mesalliance.  That  patch  of  orange  was  "the  blot  on 
the  'scutcheon."  Still,  if  his  coat  had  not  shown  the 
bar  sinister,  I  should  probably  not  have  possessed  my 
beautiful  rug  at  all.  "Is  it  not  a  pity,"  said  one 
pitcher  gloomily  to  another,  "that  however  full  we 
come  from  the  well  we  always  go  to  it  quite  empty?" 
"I  like  to  think  rather,"  cheerily  answered  the  other 
pitcher,  "that  no  matter  how  empty  we  go  forth,  we 
return  from  the  well  brimming." 

Both  Indians  and  Eskimo  in  Alaska  are  good  tan- 
ners and  furriers.     They  scrape  the  backs  of  the  pelts, 


94          THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

cover  them  with  brains  or  sour  dough,  roll  them 
tightly  and  leave  them  for  forty-eight  hours.  Then  the 
skins  are  beaten  and  washed.  Some,  like  the  unborn 
reindeer's,  are  chewed  by  the  women.  Like  most 
savages,  the  natives  are  expert  trappers.  They 
catch  great  numbers  of  ermine,  which,  though  the 
name  suggests  queens'  trains  and  kings'  mantles,  are 
nothing  more  royal  than  weasels.  In  summer  they 
resemble  others  of  their  family  who  never  appear  at 
court;  but  in  winter,  because  the  tiny  things  are 
defenseless,  they  receive  the  gift  of  fern  seed,  or  its 
equivalent.  They  turn  as  white  as  the  snow  over 
which  they  fleetly  run,  only  the  yellow  and  black  tips 
of  their  tails  differing.  In  Alaska,  ermine  skins  cost 
but  three  cents  apiece.  It's  the  matching,  the  labor  of 
piecing  the  tiny  things,  and  the  mode  which  makes 
them  so  costly  to  My  Lady  of  Beauty,  who  dons  her 
ermine  mantle  when  winter  wraps  himself  in  his,  and 
thinks,  alas,  neither  of  them  nor  of  me. 

The  weasel  thieves  in  silver  suit 

The  rabbit  runs  in  gray, 
And  Pan  takes  up  his  frosty  flute 

To  pipe  the  cold  away. 

The  flocks  are  folded,  boughs  are  bare, 

The  salmon  takes  the  sea ; 
And  oh,  my  fair,  would  I  somewhere 

Might  house  my  heart  with  thee. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ANDREAFSKI   AND    IKOGMUTE 

*' Every  life  has  its  years  in  which  one  progresses,  as 
on  a  tedious  and  dusty  street  of  poplars,  without  car- 
ing to  know  where  he  is."  I  can  think  of  nothing  else 
which  so  perfectly  expresses  it  as  Max  Miiller's 
'* tedious  and  dusty  street  of  poplars,"  but  if  a  second 
comparison  were  needed,  to  me  it  would  be:  Every 
life  has  its  years  in  which  one  progresses  as  through 
the  tundras  of  the  Yukon  delta,  without  caring  for  any- 
thing or  anybody,  stemming  the  current  with  an  effort, 
feeling  that  one  might  as  well  swing  to  and  drift. 
Still  the  wide  sweep  of  waters  like  a  muddy,  inland 
sea,  the  hither  bank  only  the  interminate  edge  of  a 
tundra,  the  far  shore  imperceptible,  sandbars  lying 
just  under  the  water  and  coming  up  here  and  there  to 
breathe ;  not  a  tree  in  sight,  not  an  animal,  not  a  habi- 
tation, not  even  another  boat,  just  interminable  wastes 
before  and  behind.  You  remember  the  boy  whose 
double-vizored  cap  bewildered  him  so  that  he  couldn't 
tell  whether  he  was  going  to  school  or  coming  back. 
Oh,  it  is  so  monotonous  and  dreary !  I  listened  with 
unbelief  of  heart  to  those  who  had  been  up  the  river 
and  described  its  beauties.  It  is  so  in  life.  "Oh, 
yes,"  we  answer  the  comforter,  "but  I  have  had  my 
day.  This  gray  monotony,  this  uninterest,  this  bar- 
ren hopelessness  are  become  mine.  No,  no,  I  shall 
never  pass  beyond  them.  They  stretch  to  my  life's 
end. ' '  We  are  impatient  with  the  friend  who  affirms 
that  he  has  passed  through  them  and  found  joy  and 

95 


96  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

beauty  beyond.  "But  we  shall  not,  we — "  it's  a  lie,  a 
perverse  lie,  for  always,  and  for  all  things,  the  dictum 
stands,  "This,  too,  shall  pass  away." 

The  Alaska  end  of  the  company  knew  nothing  of 
the  rush  by  first  ship  to  the  north,  so  it  happened  that 
their  oldest  boat,  one  built  for  a  freighter  and  intended 
to  carry  but  a  few  passengers,  was  the  only  one  at  St. 
Michael.  It  was  somewhat  uncomfortable  for  such  a 
crowd  at  the  time,  but  to  most  of  us  the  experience, 
being  novel,  was  thoroughly  enjoyed — afterward.  The 
Healy,  the  best  boat  on  the  river  at  that  time,  had 
started  but  a  week  before  for  Dawson,  and  the  Hamil- 
ton, named  after  Charles  H.  Hamilton,  the  first  white 
man  to  go  out  from  the  interior,  was  but  just  begun. 
This  steamer,  by  the  way,  I  afterward  saw  on  its  trip 
up  the  river.  I  shall  never  forget  the  wild  excitement 
of  its  arrival.  The  short  summer  was  ending,  and 
darkness  was  again  visiting  the  Northland.  The 
Healy  had  tied  up  to  wood,  and  to  wait  for  morning 
light,  as  the  river  was  unprecedently  low  and  the  sand- 
bars dangerous.  The  Hamilton  had  a  searchlight, 
Alaska's  first.  This  was  being  turned  about  as  she 
steamed  toward  us.  The  Indians  were  terrified. 
Those  ashore  cast  themselves  upon  the  ground  or  dashed 
into  the  dense  brush  to  escape  that  searching  eye. 
One  of  the  pilots  stood  near  by,  and  seeing  I  was  not 
alarmed,  quelled  his  fear  and  inquired,  "Big  boat  carry 
moon?"  I  explained  it  as  best  I  could,  and  he  said, 
"All  same  like  sun,  make  same  like  morning."  One 
of  the  crew  began  to  cry  and  wail  for  his  "little" 
brother — a  great,  strapping  deck-hand — he  would  be 
burned  alive  in  that  boat  all  afire.  The  Indians  could 
not  understand  why  the  steamer  was  not  consumed. 
It  was  some  time  before  they  could  be  quieted,  and 
they  returned  aboard  with  many  misgivings.  Even  we 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE  97 

of  the  Healy,  which  is  a  large  boat,  with  commodious 
staterooms  finished  in  natural  fir,  a  large  dining  salon, 
a  first-class  cook,  and  everything  fit  to  run  upon  any 
civilized  river  in  the  States,  were  abashed  at  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  Hamilton,  which  was  carried  as  far  as 
a  bridal  chamber !  When  it  comes  to  that,  it  is  need- 
less to  say  that  those  who  are  posing  as  having  become 
inured  to  every  hardship,  exposure  and  deprivation 
by  reason  of  a  Yukon  journey,  are  something  begin- 
ning with  "1."  It  is  altogether  too  late  for  such  to 
pose  as  rivals  of  Nansen.  Why,  barring  fresh  vege- 
tables and  meat — and  we  had  salmon  and  other  fish, 
just  out  of  the  water,  and  fowl  of  all  kinds,  only  obtain- 
able at  home  at  expensive  restaurants  and  swell  hotels, 
one  could  find  small  fault  with  the  fare.  The  canned 
vegetables  were  the  very  best.  People  at  home  do 
not  consider  that  they  are  "roughing  it"  if  they  are 
served  with  asparagus,  new  peas,  deviled  turkey, 
honey,  currant  jelly,  and  fine  canned  fruits  of  every 
kind.  All  these  and  more  we  had.  I  have  no  patience 
with  these  people  who  are  always  bewailing  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt,  when  they  must  know  that  they  are 
feeding  upon  unaccustomed  manna.  I  have  always 
found  the  traveled,  and  those  accustomed  to  most  at 
home,  the  adaptable  ones. 

But  to  return  to  my  first  experience  of  the  Yukon, 
and  to  the  only  taste  of  roughing  it  I  had,  as  far  as 
traveling  was  concerned.  It  was  one  I  could  not  have 
spared,  for  the  world  is  growing  smaller  and  more  con- 
ventional every  day.  Brakemen  are  calling  the  stations 
of  Jerusalem  and  its  environs  in  the  same  unintelli- 
gible growls  in  which  they  announce  the  towns  on  the 
Northern  Pacific;  Venice  is  being  drained  and 
"improved";  peasants  everywhere  are  beginning  to 
feel  like  the  chorus  of  a  light  opera.  There  won't  be 


98  THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

an  odd  nook  nor  a  retired  corner  in  the  world  soon,  a 
picturesque  costume  nor  a  heathen,  except  those  we 
shall  always  have  with  us. 

The  boat,  like  all  Yukon  steamers,  was  a  stern- 
wheeler.  The  small  front  deck  was  uncovered,  and 
the  tiny  salon  behind  it  boasted  of  a  narrow  bench 
around  the  wall,  which  compelled  one  to  sit  with  great 
dignity.  A  broken  armchair  and  a  small  stand  com- 
pleted its  furniture.  Behind  this  was  the  purser's 
office  on  one  side  and  the  trading  store  for  natives  on 
the  other.  A  narrow  passage  extended  half  the  boat' s 
length,  and  the  staterooms  opened  upon  it.  They  were 
roughly  finished  in  pine,  unpainted,  uncarpeted.  A 
small  corner  shelf  bore  a  very  small  granite  washbasin, 
and  a  ewer  about  the  size  of  a  cream  pitcher.  There 
was  also  a  galvanized  iron  bucket.  As  the  servants 
had  all  stampeded  for  Klondike,  each  passenger 
cared  for  his  own  room  as  best  he  could,  dipping 
his  pitcher  into  the  barrel  of  river  water  outside  the 
dining-hall  door.  There  were  a  number  of  officials' 
wives  going  in  to  rejoin  their  husbands.  After  the 
women  were  accommodated  with  rooms,  a  few  of  the 
men  were  assigned  to  the  remaining  ones.  The  others 
slept  on  the  dining-room  tables,  atop  trunks  on  deck, 
and  upon  woodpiles  below.  Our  room  had  been  occu- 
pied by  miners  with  gold,  which  they  never  left 
unguarded.  The  one  so  cabined  must  have  lighted  one 
cigar  by  another.  In  consequence,  my  pillow  would 
have  been  soothing  to  an  aching  tooth,  but  as  I  was 
fortunately  lacking  this,  it  proved  to  be  conducive  to 
an  aching  head.  It  really  seemed  to  be  stuffed  with 
tobacco,  as  one  makes  a  spruce  pillow.  My  comforter 
was  misnamed  for  the  same  reason,  so  I  gingerly  car- 
ried both  articles  into  the  passage  and  made  shift  with- 
out. The  purser  gave  me  a  pair  of  new  blankets  and 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE  99 

one  sheet;  my  mackintosh  made  another  cover,  and 
the  cape  a  pillow,  so  I  was  in  clover — which  smells 
much  purer  than  stale  tobacco.  The  ladies  below  me 
had  found  some  excelsior  with  which  they  made  pillows 
with  towels.  One  of  these  ladies,  young  and  stylish, 
just  the  sort  of  woman  a  man  would  think  only  strong 
for  golf  and  dancing,  announced  that  she  didn't  intend 
to  sleep  over  such  a  floor  as  that.  She  found  one 
lady  had  bethought  her  of  taking  up  a  scrub  brush  in 
her  trunk.  This  was  searched  out  of  the  baggage. 
Milady  next  begged  some  hot  water  of  the  cook,  and 
scrubbed  that  floor  as  white  as  her  own  slim  hands. 
She  charmed  a  man  into  putting  up  another  shelf  and 
driving  some  nails ;  she  had  begged  some  terra  cotta 
wrapping  paper,  and  with  this  she  covered  shelves  and 
made  a  splasher.  She  washed  the  window,  and  threw 
her  pretty  steamer  rug  over  the  bed.  A  cracker-box 
served  for  chair  and  cupboard  both.  In  short,  in  a 
very  little  time  she  had  made  the  room  clean  and 
cheery.  A  mirror  was  hung  to  reflect  its  graces 
and  her  own,  some  wild  flowers  added  a  touch  of 
home,  books  and  magazines  lay  around;  a  woman's 
hand  had  transformed  the  place.  Others  were 
clearing  their  rooms,  some  washed  out  their  towels, 
and  hung  them  upon  shawlstraps  buckled  together 
for  clothes  lines.  There  were  many  amusing  make- 
shifts. 

Water  was  the  warm  and  muddy  Yukon,  drawn 
up  in  buckets.  We  simply  could  not  drink  it  at 
first,  it  resembled  ditch  water  too  strongly;  but 
parched  lips  beg,  so  one  after  another  succumbed  to 
thirst.  One  of  the  young  fellows  aboard,  a  college 
graduate  and  post  graduate,  proved  that  education  does 
not  necessarily  kill  common  sense,  by  remarking  that 
it  was  all  very  well  to  put  up  with  necessary  evils,  but 


ioo         THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

that  only  a  fool  would  endure  avoidable  ones.  He 
procured  another  barrel,  some  stones  and  some  char- 
coal, and  made  a  simple  but  effective  filter  which  pro- 
vided clear  water  for  everybody.  He  covered  it  from 
the  sun  and  placed  it  in  a  draught,  so  it  was  cool. 
There  was  so  much  gratitude  expressed  that  several 
jealously  said  that  it  was  simple  enough,  anybody 
could  have  done  it,  which  was,  of  course,  quite  true, 
but  only  he  had  done  it.  How  clearly  every  nook  and 
cranny  of  character  is  opened  tinder  the  light  of  travel, 
especially  boat  travel.  Even  that  of  a  diplomat, 
surely,  would  divulge  itself  if  the  Atlantic  trip  were 
not  so  short.  This  young  fellow  wore  well  under  the 
strain.  Was  a  mother  tired,  perhaps  baby  would  like 
to  go  on  deck  with  him ;  was  a  pencil  broken,  his  was 
the  first  knife  produced;  was  strength  needed,  the  ex- 
football  player  had  plenty;  when  there  was  no  cribbage 
board,  he  made  a  very  creditable  one.  He  kept  out 
of  quarrels,  and  gave  neither  word  nor  ear  to  the 
gossip.  I  don't  think  anybody  aboard  would  grudge 
him  a  bonanza  mine  should  he  happen  to  strike 
one. 

The  meals  were  revelations  indeed.  No  seats  had 
been  assigned  us  aboard  ship,  so  at  sound  of  the  bell 
everybody  rushed  for  the  dining  room  as  if  impelled 
by  starvation  itself.  The  long  pine  table  was  bare  at 
first,  but  afterward  a  red  tablecloth  was  produced.  A 
few  days'  friction  rubbed  off  the  veneer  of  civilization, 
at  least  in  spots,  and  people  reached  and  grabbed,  and 
some  who  at  home  were  undoubtedly  considered  well 
bred,  ate  like  ravening  beasts.  We  were  a  "mixed 
lot."  This  eating  with  publicans  and  sinners  was 
novel,  at  least  in  that  they  were  not  our  brand  of  sin- 
ners. One  day  I  found  myself  with  a  prostitute  one 
side,  a  professional  gambler  the  other,  and  an  elderly 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  LKCGMUTE          101 

Frenchman  opposite,  who  preser^e,d  himself.; like  a 
brandied  cherry  with  unnumbered  potations,  so  that 
when  he  opened  the  door  of  his  stateroom  you  would 
think  you  were  passing  a  saloon.  Beside  him  sat  the 
young  girl  he  had  just  married  to  succeed  the  squaw 
he  had  cast  off.  Further  along,  there  was  an 
unshaven,  tall,  ramshackle  man,  with  loose  clothes  and 
vicious  face,  who  was  said  to  be  an  expert  geologist 
from  Washington,  D.  C. ,  and  who  had  mined  in  every 
country  in  the  world.  He  had  evidently  treasured 
every  land's  oaths  also,  for  he  possessed  a  cabinet  of 
them.  This  man's  peculiarity  was  constantly  dis- 
covering from  the  deck  rocks  which  certainty  "carried" 
so  and  so.  My  faith  in  even  his  ability  wavered  after 
his  excited  discovery  of  sulphur  upon  a  mountain  side. 
It  looked  to  my  ignorant  eyes  remarkably  like  lichen, 
and  it  proved  to  be  simply  that  and  nothing  more. 
One  of  the  gamblers  was  the  most  detestable  looking 
man  I  ever  saw.  Though  young,  he  was  bald- 
headed,  and  his  pate  was  pink  and  shiny.  He  had 
shifty  blue  eyes,  and  wore  a  sweater  which  set  forth 
his  beauties  admirably.  He  it  was  that  was  taking 
the  woman  I  spoke  of  to  a  Dawson  dance  hall. 
She,  too,  was  hideous,  bearing  in  her  face  the  vile- 
ness  of  her  life.  How  they  must  have  hated  each 
other! 

Oh,  what  was  that,  that  jar  and  scraping?  We  knew 
the  sound  thereafter.  We  were  on  a  sandbar.  There 
we  lay  for  twenty-four  hours,  till  at  ten  o'clock  high- 
tide  we  floated  off.  The  engineer  seized  upon  the 
delay  to  clean  the  boilers,  "for  you  know  the  mingling 
of  salt  and  fresh  water  crust  will  froth  and  blow  up  a 
boiler."  I  didn't  know  it,  but  that  is  in  no  wise 
remarkable,  seeing  that  upon  that  wonderful  trip  I 
struck  very  few  things  that  I  did  know. 


io2         THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

E'requent  were  the  jokes  among1  the  passengers  about 
the  wealth"  witti  which,  they  would  retake  the  journey. 
"See  this  pocket?"  queried  one  young  fellow,  turning 
the  empty  repository  inside  out.  "When  I  come  out 
my  gold  will  be  shipped  by  freight,  and  my  diamonds 
will  light  up  the  deck. "  One  day  a  lady  gave  her  baby 
a  silver  dollar  to  play  with.  "  If  he  has  that  going  in, 
what  will  he  be  throwing  round  when  he  comes  out?" 
laughed  one  of  the  others. 

There  was  room  for  two  hammocks  in  the  little  cabin, 
and  two  young  fellows,  both  of  whom  happened  to  be 
tall,  slept  therein.  One  of  these,  I  remember,  was 
very  "finicky"  about  his  attire,  which  he  changed  so 
often  that  it  was  a  source  of  admiring  wonder  how  he 
managed  it.  He  kept  sundry  telescopes  under  the 
benches,  and  it  was  quite  a  common  occurrence  to  be 
called  to  stand  while  "Willy"  dived  under  for  another 
necktie  or  a  clean  handkerchief.  But  he  was  a  manly 
young  fellow,  who  sang  well  and  helped  us  past  those 
dreadful  sand  dunes.  One  day,  I  met  him  in  the  pas- 
sage looking  hot  and  tired.  "What,"  exclaimed  I, 
"have  you  found  to  do?"  "I've  been  down  in  the 
engine  room  washing.  I  tell  you  it  was  hot  work,  but 
things  are  clean.  I  say,  though,  it  takes  a  trip  like 
this  to  teach  a  fellow  how  easy  women's  thoughts  and 
women's  work  make  life  for  a  man,"  and  he  hurried 
away  to  cool  off.  The  other  "cabin  passenger"  was  a 
young  Canadian,  with  a  very  boyish  pink  and  white 
face.  It  was  a  mercy  he  was  not  a  quarter  inch  taller, 
or  he  would  have  had  to  swing  his  hammock  in  the 
passage.  He  was  very  thin  and  stooped  as  if  his  rapid 
growth  had  quite  exhausted  him.  Instead  of  getting 
under  the  bench  for  a  necktie,  his  frequent  raids  were 
for  his  rifle.  The  day  we  stuck  on  the  sandbar  he 
was  in  his  element  and  gumboots  to  the  hips,  wading 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE          103 

about  and  over  the  sandbars  for  game.  He  walked  for 
miles,  and  actually  brought  back  some  birds.  We 
spent  Fourth  of  July  aboard,  and  he,  though  a  Cana- 
dian, was  the  only  man  who  knew  the  proper  number 
of  guns  in  a  salute.  This  young  fellow  was  a  druggist, 
but  as  his  goods  would  not  be  up  that  year,  he  was 
going  to  mine.  There  was  considerable  slight  illness 
on  the  boat  going  up  the  river,  attributable,  as  we 
afterward  found,  to  drinking  from  every  clear,  cool 
spring  we  found,  and  he  was  very  kind  with  his  medi- 
cines and  suggestions,  as  was  another  druggist  dubbed 
"Doc." 

How  well  I  can  see  them  all  now — the  man  who 
fished  for  days  with  unwavering  patience  and  not  even 
a  bite ;  the  tall  fellow  known  to  swell  Chicago  athletic 
clubs,  who  muttered  only  half  thankfully  that  he  was 
glad  that  three  trunks  were  long  enough  to  afford 
an  afternoon  siesta,  he  should  hate  to  ache  over 
four.  Then  there  was  the  fat  and  cross-eyed  gambler, 
with  his  emeralds  and  his  wondrous  assurance,  who 
intruded  himself  into  every  group,  and  who  demanded 
of  a  lady  at  St.  Michael,  when  the  revenue  cutter 
officers  came  over  to  visit,  "Why  don't  you  introduce 
your  friends  to  me?"  She  replied  quickly  and  with  a 
sweetly  clear  voice,  * '  Because  I  do  not  know  you,  and 
my  friends  do  not  wish  to." 

The  men  smoked  so  industriously  that  their  united 
efforts  would  have  run  the  engine  surely,  and  the 
tobacco  smoke  make  a  very  creditable  showing  from 
the  stack.  This  perfect  satisfaction  in  smoking  is  a 
great  mystery  to  a  woman.  To  a  man  it  seems  to 
afford  a  comfort,  a  serenity,  a  companionship,  an  abso- 
lute content  that  neither  religion  nor  love,  nor  both 
combined,  can  impart. 

For  nearly  two  hundred  miles,  the  Aphoon,  or  delta, 


io4        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

extends  between  the  flat  banks  broken  by  sandbars. 
"The  Foot  of  the  Mountain,"  as  the  Indians  pictur- 
esquely call  the  end  of  the  highlands,  is  193  miles  from 
the  river's  mouth.  Those  seemingly  endless  flats  are 
passed  at  last,  and  the  hills  begin  to  rise.  The  rain 
has  ceased,  the  mists  have  rolled  away,  unbelief  is 
shamed,  wild  flowers  smile,  trees  wave  their  green 
pennants  joyfully.  So  the  fourth  day  from  St.  Michael 
brought  us  to  Andreafski,  216  miles.  The  Ekimo 
are  now  left  behind,  just  as  we  had  learned  a  few 
words  of  their  greetings.  No  kiaks  are  to  be  seen 
now,  only  birch  bark  canoes.  The  men's  are  covered 
at  the  ends,  signifying  that  they  must  brave  stormier 
weather;  the  women's  are  wider,  and  so  steadier. 
The  canoes  floating  interior  rivers  are  often  gaily  deco- 
rated with  porcupine  quills,  but  not  on  the  business- 
like " great  river."  All  Yukon  Indians  use  canoes,  but 
those  of  Southeast  Alaska  make  their  boats  of  hollowed 
logs,  and  sometimes  fifty  or  sixty  feet  long  and  five  or 
six  wide.  They  have  good  lines  and  high  prows, 
carved  and  colored  in  totemic  designs,  sometimes  very 
artistically.  The  Indians  of  the  Yukon,  though  all 
Tinnehs,  are  divided  into  many  classes,  speaking 
entirely  different  languages.  But  in  their  astonishing 
,  honesty  they  are  as  one.  You  might  leave  valuables 
with  them  for  years,  articles,  I  mean,  considered  valu- 
able by  them,  even  a  rifle,  beloved  of  their  barbarian 
hearts,  and  you  would  find  them  intact  to  a  pin  upon 
your  return,  unless  they  might  have  learned  to  steal 
from  some  ''civilized"  man.  This  absolute  honesty 
is  very  strange  among  a  people  without  laws  either  of 
God  or  man.  A  man  who  has  hired  large  numbers  of 
Yukon  Indians  for  years  told  me  that  he  had  never  had 
but  one  case  of  theft,  although  nothing  was  watched. 
One  of  his  crew  stole  a  ham.  He  said  nothing  to  the 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE          105 

offender,  but  simply  sent  ahead  a  runner  to  the  Indian's 
village,  where  he  informed  the  tribe  of  the  theft. 
When  the  boat  reached  the  hamlet,  the  thief  was  put 
off.  That  was  his  sole  punishment.  When  the  boat 
returned  the  poor  fellow  rushed  aboard  and  begged 
piteously  to  be  allowed  to  earn  the  ham  a  dozen 
times.  He  was  completely  ostracised  by  the  village, 
his  own  wife  wouldn't  speak  to  him.  He  would  kill 
himself.  He  was  taken  back,  and  upon  ample  resti- 
tution, word  was  sent  to  his  village  that  the  Indian 
had  atoned.  When  a  new  boat  was  being  built  at 
St.  Michael,  the  natives,  Ekimo  these,  carefully 
picked  up  the  nails  dropped  by  the  carpenters  and 
returned  them,  though  they  were  highly  pleased  if 
given  some. 

Speaking  of  a  runner,  it  is  astonishing  the  pace  the 
Alaskan  Indians  can  keep  up.  One  afternoon  a  squaw 
ran  beside  the  boats  for  home,  keeping  even  over  rough 
ground  without  effort,  and  arriving  at  the  village  with 
us.  When  we  were  at  Stebbins,  fifteen  hard  miles 
from  St.  Michael,  an  Indian  ran  there  with  a  message 
and  returned  in  half  a  day,  thirty  miles  for  three  dol- 
lars. They  like  riding,  however,  for  style,  and  will 
drive  if  they  have  but  a  single  half-starved  dog,  and 
must  push  themselves  along  by  one  foot  like  a  small 
boy  on  a  sled. 

But  here  we  are,  at  Andreafski,  216  miles  from  St. 
Michael,  the  hills  and  our  spirits  rising.  All  the  popu- 
lation came  down  to  see  us,  but  that  does  not  imply 
great  numbers.  The  belle  of  the  village  was  indis- 
putably a  young  girl  dressed  in  a  fur  parka,  with  large 
blue  beads  dangling  from  her  nose,  and  strands  of  the 
same  hanging  in  front  of  her  ears  to  her  shoulders, 
and  ending  in  brass  rings  and  small  brass  bells.  Her 
belt  was  of  brass  buttons.  Copper  bracelets  adorned 


io6        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

her  slim  wrists ;  in  fact,  these  appeared  to  be  worn  by 
all  the  women  of  Andreafski  who  could  be  considered 
"in  the  swim."  Unlike  our  own  ornaments,  how- 
ever, they  impoverished  no  one,  as  the  women  them- 
selves beat  them  from  chunks  of  native  copper.  I 
bought  some  of  these  bracelets  from  the  women,  and 
one  of  them  now  adorns  the  round  white  wrist  of  a 
little  pianist  friend  of  mine  whose  hair  matches  the 
copper  to  a  shade.  Some  of  the  women  here  were 
tattooed  quite  strikingly.  I  arranged  a  group  upon 
the  flowers  'of  the  high  bank,  but  the  camera  put  the 
bravest  to  flight.  In  a  twinkling  they  were  gone. 

The  blue  grass  was  shoulder  high  already,  and  it  was 
but  the  yth  of  July.  Most  of  the  roofs  were  spread 
with  it  to  dry  for  the  matting  which  is  their  rugs,  bed, 
walls,  tapestry,  and  portieres.  One  man  was  seated 
upon  the  ground  making  a  fish  trap.  From  driftwood 
he  had  whittled  thin  strips  about  six  feet  long,  and  laid 
them  at  regular  distances  upon  the  ground.  The 
cross-pieces  were  fastened  by  withes  made  from  fine 
roots  which  run  along  near  the  top  of  the  ground  every- 
where and  wetted  to  make  them  pliable.  The  trap, 
finished,  would  be  gathered  in  at  the  bottom,  and  a 
shorter  part  would  be  put  inside,  having  an  opening  in 
the  bottom.  This  trap  is  fixed  in  the  stream.  Mr. 
Fish  carelessly  swims  straight  ahead  into  the  cage, 
and  then  cannot  find  his  way  out.  These  traps  are 
very  light  and  strong,  and  cost  about  twenty-five 
dollars. 

Looking  at  the  habitations  of  the  Andreafski  citizens, 
it  would  seem  that,  like  Topsy,  they  "just  growed." 
Half  underground  and  rounded  but  a  little  above,  they 
resemble  great  worm  casts  more  than  houses  made  by 
hands.  They  never  seem  new  either.  Still,  I  actually 
saw  one  in  course  of  construction.  Posts,  logs,  had 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE          107 

been  set  for  the  corners.  These  were  grooved  down 
the  sides.  The  logs  were  flattened  at  the  ends,  and 
then  slid  into  these  grooves.  Logs  support  the  sod 
roof. 

At  Andreafski  we  saw  the  first  salmon  racks,  the 
communal  elevators,  so  to  speak.  The  salmon  when 
caught  are  split,  and  the  backbones  removed,  then  they 
are  hung  high  from  the  dogs  for  the  sun  to  cure. 
At  Andreafski,  there  was  much  salmon  roe  also  ripen- 
ing in  the  sun.  This  was  especially  odoriferous. 
Dried  fish  is  the  Indians'  only  winter  food,  and, 
frozen  stiff,  is  stacked  away  like  cord  wood  in  caches. 

I  stopped  to  speak  to  a  woman  holding  the  inevitable 
baby.  By  signs  I  asked  her  how  many  children  she 
had.  She  laid  three  sticks  upon  the  ground  and 
smiled.  The  Tinneh  women  are  treated  as  nearly 
equal  to  their  lords,  and  fear  not  to  raise  their  vigor- 
ous protest  if  they  do  not  get  what  they  want.  Indians 
who  work  on  the  boats  are  the  village  aristocrats, 
rich,  blase*,  and  traveled.  But  the  Seventy- five 
among  the  Four  Hundred  are  pilots.  All  are  paid 
in  trade.  I  remember  a  funny  scene  here.  He 
wanted  flour,  man-like,  it  would  be  something  to 
eat ;  the  squaw  wanted  a  new  calico  gown,  womanlike, 
something  to  wear ;  they  compromised  upon  a  blanket, 
"something  for  the  house."  Equality  there  is  not, 
though  Yukon  squaws  are  the  new  women  of  Indian 
nations.  Still  I  never  saw  a  man  and  woman  talk- 
ing together  for  long,  and  never  saw  a  young  man 
conversing  with  a  girl  apart;  perhaps  that  is  not 
proper. 

Squaws  carry  their  babies  upon  their  backs,  tied  on 
if  little,  riding  pickaback  if  they  are  larger,  while  the 
mother  stoops  under  the  burden,  and  walks  noiselessly 
in  her  moccasins.  You  can  always  tell  the  squaws 


io8        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

that  have  been  educated  at  the  various  missions  by 
their  carrying  babies  in  their  arms,  while  they  clump 
awkwardly  along  in  stiff,  heavy  shoes.  Their  children 
never  cry,  and  the  babies  very  seldom.  I  heard  one 
whining  one  day,  and  remarked  it.  "Oh,"  said  a 
miner,  "that  baby's  a  half-breed.  The  whiter  a  baby 
the  more  trouble  it  is." 

Almost  everybody  I  met  in  Alaska  opposed  the  mis- 
sions to  the  Indians.  Miners  said  that  they  lost  all 
their  virtue  and  gained  all  the  white  vices  the  minute 
they  could  read.  But  I  think  the  main  objection  was, 
after  all,  that  they  now  understood  the  value  of 
money,  and  had  raised  their  prices  for  work  and  sales. 
Only  a  year  or  so  ago,  they  cared  nothing  for  money, 
it  was  only  barter  with  them.  They  are  good  bargain- 
ers. One  of  their  peculiarities  is,  they  cannot  under- 
stand that  price  is  ruled  by  the  law  of  supply  and 
demand.  You  can  never  again  buy  anything  lower  of 
an  Indian  than  the  highwater  marked  price  it  has 
reached.  They  have  learned  to  be  grasping  certainly, 
but  it  strikes  me  it  is  more  from  imitating  the  greed 
of  the  whites  than  from  the  teaching  at  any  of  the 
missions.  One  of  them  at  Circle  City  modestly  asked 
a  dollar  an  hour  and  board  to  pack  to  the  mines,  and 
when  that  was  acceded  to,  insisted  that  his  partner 
must  go  on  the  same  terms.  Anything  means 
"board."  An  Indian  will  clean  a  grouse  for  you  and 
banquet  himself  off  the  raw  entrails  of  the  bird,  and 
will  eat  the  uncooked  entrails  of  a  rabbit  for  desert. 
You  may  judge  of  what  would  be  considered  unfit  to 
eat  when  I  tell  you  that  their  most  esteemed  delicacy 
is  salmon  heads  buried  in  the  ground  till  putrified. 
Still,  we  can  hardly  express  disgust  at  this  when  we 
remember  that  many  white  epicures  relish  cheese  that 
need  not  be  wrapped,  as  Charles  Lamb  said,  but  could 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE          109 

be  led  home  by  a  string.  I  have  not  learned  much  in 
my  life,  but  one  lesson  in  which  I  am  almost  perfect  is 
that  of  seeing  the  same  human  nature,  likes  and 
motives  in  very  diverse  people,  and  it  gives  me  a  real 
sympathy  with  things  otherwise  not  to  be  understood. 
It  is  so  when  one  of  their  Shamans  pulls  out  a  pain 
and  blows  it  away,  sometimes  abstracting  a  stick  or  a 
moose  string  from  the  afflicted  part.  What  is  more 
ridiculous  about  the  proceeding  than  that  of  many  of 
our  various  scientist  friends?  Indeed,  the  great  Dr. 
Charcot  himself  is  not  above  hypnotism. 

One  thing  odd  and  indisputable  about  the  Indians  is 
their  presentiments,  or  whatever  you  may  wish  to  call 
them.  One  of  the  pilots  aboard  the  ill-fated  Weare 
which  spent  the  larger  part  of  last  summer  high  and 
dry  upon  a  sandbar,  left  the  boat  just  before  the  acci- 
dent, insisting  that  she  would  stick  precisely  where 
she  did.  These  things  appear  to  be  common  among 
them. 

Whenever  our  boat  touched,  the  Indian  crew  rushed 
ashore  and  shook  hands  with  their  male  friends  in  the 
latest  dude  fashion,  once  only,  soberly,  and  with  hands 
extended  high.  Then  they  chattered  and  giggled  like 
so  many  boarding-school  girls,  and  paraded  up  and 
down  the  beach  with  their  arms  about  one  another.  I 
never  saw  a  jollier  people.  The  boat  crew  were 
always  dancing,  singing,  good  naturedly  scuffling, 
when  not  at  work.  They  never  quarreled  nor  acted 
grumpy,  and  they  told  long  stories  that  I  ached  to 
understand.  Life  is  one  long  delightful  holiday  to 
them. 

Above  Andreafski,  the  left  bank  rises  ambitiously 
into  spruce-covered  mountains,  but  the  right  shore 
still  stretches  out  lazily,  taking  no  interest  in  any- 
thing, and  dawdles  out  of  sight.  No  animals  are  seen, 


no        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

neither  did  I  hear  a  bird.  It  is  utterly  silent.  For 
many  miles  at  a  stretch  there  was  not  even  a  fishing 
station  nor  a  tent  to  be  seen.  Why,  a  solitary  Indian 
standing  upon  a  mountain  top  waving,  threw  the  whole 
boat  into  wildest  excitement.  But  now  fish  traps 
appear  in  the  river,  a  birch-bark  canoe,  another,  some 
"town"  must  be  near.  It  proved  to  be  Ikogmute,  or, 
more  commonly,  the  Russian  Mission,  315  miles  from 
St.  Michael,  population  about  150,  every  poll  of  which, 
it  is  safe  to  assert,  was  on  the  broad  beach  when  we 
came  in.  To  me  there  are  many  interesting  things  at 
Ikogmute,  one  of  them,  of  course,  being  the  Russian 
church,  the  largest  and  finest  in  Western  Alaska.  I 
wondered  as  I  picked  my  way  across  the  beach  and  up 
the  straight  and  narrow  path  ascending  the  Hill  of  Zion 
if  Father  Orloff  had  not  used  that  road  as  a  simile 
many  a  time.  Plenty  of  room  and  easy  walking  on  the 
sands  of  the  death  river,  but  hard  climbing  and  easy 
backsliding  on  the  slippery  upward  path.  To  the 
right  was  the  cemetery,  clinging  to  the  mountain  as  if 
using  the  white  double  crosses  for  staffs.  We 
passed  the  priest's  house,  and  the  ex-priest's,  whose 
daughter  the  present  incumbent  had  married,  and 
struggled  up  the  path,  slippery  after  the  rain.  It  was 
so  thronged  by  mosquitoes  that  we  could  scarcely  crowd 
through  them.  The  church  is  of  characteristic  Rus- 
sian architecture,  and  is  painted  dark  red  with  white 
trimmings,  and  blue  domes  bearing  the  Greek  cross. 
The  extra  top-piece  indicates  the  place  of  the  sacred 
head,  and  the  diagonal  the  crossed  feet.  The  church 
was  built  by  the  Indians,  and  the  older  one,  erected  in 
1851,  is  being  demolished.  Like  all  Russian  churches, 
it  faces  the  east,  whence  came  salvation,  and  prayers 
are  made  toward  Jerusalem.  There  are  no  seats; 
Russian  churches  never  have  them.  It  is  not  consid- 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE          in 

ered  seemly  to  sit  in  the  presence  of  the  King  of  kings. 
This  church  until  recently  contained  some  very  hand- 
some hand-carved  frames  with  saints'  pictures,  but 
these,  unfortunately,  have  been  consigned  to  a  store- 
room, and  ordinary  modern  gilt  ones  substituted. 
There  is  a  chandelier  that  must  astonish  the  natives, 
and  handsome  standing  candelabras  at  each  side  of  the 
doors  opening  into  the  sacred  part.  The  screen  is 
painted  white,  paneled  with  gilt  moulding,  and  con- 
taining pictures  of  Bible  scenes.  That  of  St.  Michael 
closely  resembles  Delia  Fox.  One  of  the  curious 
things  owned  by  the  church  is  a  very  handsome  treas- 
ure box  of  bronze,  about  two  feet  long,  made  in  1800, 
and  sent  by  the  Czar.  It  opens  by  two  keys,  and 
plays  soft  music  when  it  is  unlocked.  Father 
Orloff,  the  priest,  though  a  Russian,  was  educated  in 
the  public  schools  of  San  Francisco.  He  seems  an 
intelligent  and  worthy  man,  but  I  should  like  to  know 
how  many  robes  he  wears  at  once.  The  top  one  is 
hunter's  green,  and  I  know  there's  a  black  one  and  a 
brown  one.  The  Russian  mission  has  a  little  steamer 
of  its  own,  called  the  Explorer. 

The  Indian  houses  at  Ikogmute  are  comparatively 
large,  cleaner — or,  rather,  not  so  dirty  as  in  most 
places.  They  stand  upon  the  ground,  and  are  solidly 
built  of  logs.  The  opening  is  elliptical,  and  is  about 
eighteen  inches  from  the  ground,  so  that  one  must  step 
up  and  bend  double  at  the  same  time.  Indians  do  it 
rapidly,  and  it  did  seem  that  a  superior  intelligence 
ought  to  achieve  what  they  so  easily  do.  But  gray 
matter  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case,  It  is  being 
brought  up  to  it,  and  I  wasn't.  Inside  the  door  are 
pegs  to  assist  the  queer  motion.  The  edges  of  the 
entrances  are  worn  as  smooth  as  a  water  pebble.  The 
doorway  invariably  faces  the  river,  for  do  not  food 


ii2        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

and  drink — water  for  other  purposes  would  be  clearly 
an  affectation — come  from  it?  Yet  sneer  not;  the  early 
Britains  considered  two  baths,  one  upon  entering  the 
world  and  the  other  upon  leaving  it,  quite  as  much  as 
could  be  expected.  The  first  wife,  for  Tinnehs  are 
polygamous,  is  "the  wife  toward  the  river."  The  fire 
is  in  the  center.  A  kettle  hangs  over  it  from  a  crotch, 
and  the  overhead  logs  are  festooned  with  soot.  Down 
both  sides  of  the  house  a  log  platform  serves  as  a  con- 
tinued-in-our-next  bedstead.  A  pole,  beautifully  dark- 
ened and  polished  by  dirt  and  grease,  edges  this 
platform.  Above  it,  a  narrow  shelf  holds  the  small 
belongings  of  each  family,  while  the  larger  ones  are 
thrown  under  the  dormitory.  At  the  end  of  the  house 
are  such  few  household  articles  as  it  boasts.  In 
one  house,  I  obtained  a  seal  oil  bag  of  beautiful 
amber  tints.  I  tried  hard,  too,  to  secure  a  three- 
pronged  crotch  used  as  a  stepladder  to  reach  things 
stored  among  the  rafters.  It  was  black  and  rubbed  to 
a  fine  polish.  Nothing  I  offered  was  the  least  induce- 
ment. They  had  always  had  it  and  would  always  keep 
it.  I  told  Dr.  Jackson  of  this  primitive  stepladder,  and 
he  tried  his  persuasive  powers,  with  the  priest  to  sup- 
plement them,  but  neither  obtained  it.  The  doctor 
wanted  it  for  the  Omaha  Exposition,  and  I  for  a  curious 
stool  to  put  in  my  hall  at  home.  If  I  had  a  month  to 
wheedle  and  bribe  those  smiling  but  "sot"  Indians,  I 
think  I  might  secure  that  bit  of  antedeluvian  furni- 
ture, but  those  of  you  who  travel  the  Yukon  and 
stop  at  the  Russian  Mission,  may  safely  count  upon 
seeing  it,  in  the  righthand  back  corner  of  that 
house  while  the  house  stands.  And  I  did  want  that 
mounting  stool! 

Close  by  the  Russian  Mission  is  a  slough  in  which 
the  N.  A.  T.  &  T.  Company's  boats  winter,     This 


ANDREAFSKI  AND  IKOGMUTE         113 

slough  heads  toward  another  stream.  A  portage  of 
about  a  mile  or  two  connects  them,  and  the  great 
Kuskokwim  River.  This  route  is  used  summer  and 
winter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOLY   CROSS   MISSION   AND   INDIAN   MYTHS 

As  the  Healy  swung  slowly  up  to  shore,  there  were 
sounds  of  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth. 
At  least  a  score  of  half -starved  dogs  sat  along  the 
beach,  noses  in  air,  baying  the  boat  with  long-drawn 
howls,  occasionally  broken  by  a  vicious  snap  at  one 
other.  Seated  upon  the  steep,  stony  bank  was  a 
group  of  Indian  women,  the  center  one  aged,  half 
blind,  thin,  with  dusty  hair  hanging  unkempt  about 
her  wrinkled  face  and  claw-like  hands  clasping  her  knees 
as  she  rocked  to  and  fro  bewailing  her  dead  with 
mournful  cries  and  low,  piteous  moans,  like  those  of  a 
wounded  animal.  The  women  about  her  had  come  to 
assist,  and  were  also  wailing  as  the  boat  drifted  in.  It 
was  scarcely  a  pleasant  or  a  propitious  greeting,  but 
proved  to  be  no  foretaste  of  the  delightful  visit  we  had 
at  Kosoreffski. 

One  of  the  Indian  crew  was  first  to  land  and  leaped 
quickly  up  to  where  the  old  crone  sat.  Throwing 
himself  beside  her,  he  tried  to  comfort  her.  The  other 
women  were  now  giving  all  their  attention  to  the  land- 
ing and  I  watched  these  two  with  interest.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  began  talking  eagerly  with  the  boy,  her 
grandson,  and  then  like  a  child  she  utterly  forgot  her 
grief.  I  had  hurried  ashore  and  taken  little  Serene. 
The  old  woman  beckoned  to  me  to  bring  her  there,  and 
when  I  did  so  she  touched  her  hair  with  delight,  point- 
ing to  a  sunbeam  striking  upon  a  rock,  and  making 
those  cooing  sounds  which,  the  world  over,  express 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     115 

motherly  love  and  longing,  ''There  is  no  speech  nor 
language  where  their  voice  is  not  heard. ' '  She  called 
something  to  the  boy,  and  he  brought  her  a  tiny  birch- 
bark  basket,  which  she  gave  to  Serene  with  motions 
that  said,  "Here  is  a  little  basket  for  a  little  girl. "  The 
other  women  crowded  around,  too,  and  gave  the  child 
baskets  and  pebbles,  while  the  filthy  Indian  children, 
with  sore  faces  and  tangled  hair,  looked  in  amazement 
at  her.  These  are  the  first  Indians  I  ever  saw  who  gave 
anything  without  expecting  something  in  return,  or 
who  ever  showed  the  least  gratitude  for  gifts  or  favors. 
I  had  taken  some  colored  candy  ashore,  and  gave  each 
one  a  lump  or  two  of  it.  Some  of  the  children  hung  back, 
but  the  elders  pushed  them  forward  to  get  their  share. 
Several  times  I  was  about  to  give  more  to  those  who 
had  candy,  but  in  every  case  the  children  opened  their 
hands  to  show  me  that  they  had  been  served.  You 
would  hardly  see  that  among  white  children,  who  taste 
sweets  much  of  tener  than  these  poor  things.  While  I 
was  giving  out  the  candy  and  trying  to  talk  to  some  of 
the  Indians,  one  of  them  had  beckoned  Serene  to  her, 
and  when  I  turned  round  there  was  the  child  with  her 
curls  tightly  braided  into  two  little  tails  hanging  at 
the  side  of  her  face.  How  this  did  amuse  them  all; 
they  laughed  like  so  many  happy  children,  but  I, 
aghast,  hurried  my  little  daughter  aboard  the  boat, 
unbraided  the  funny  tails  and  sprinkled  liberally  with 
insect  powder. 

After  our  own  supper,  I  went  about  among  the 
native  houses  where  most  of  them  were  preparing 
theirs.  Most  of  the  Yukon  Indians  now  cook  in  iron 
kettles,  though  you  will  often  still  see  soup  heated  in  a 
wooden  dish  by  dropping  into  it  hot  stones  from  the 
fire.  One  of  the  women  was  stirring  an  ill-smelling 
mess  with  this  huge  wooden  spoon,  cut  from  a  solid 


n6        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

piece  of  wood  and  really  graceful  in  design.  It  must 
hold  a  quart.  The  stew  was  ladled  into  wooden 
dishes  also  hollowed  out  from  wooden  blocks.  They 
were  old  and  were  colored  by  age  and  grease  to  a  rich 
mahogany.  I  bought  a  dish  and  the  spoon  from  her. 
She  wiped  the  rancid  grease  from  them  carefully  on 
the  grass,  and  for  lack  of  any  other  wrapper,  I  carried 
them  in  wisps  of  hay.  Even  I  could  not  abide  the 
Sampsonic  odor  of  these  household  articles,  and  I  after- 
ward had  them  boiled  in  lye  to  remove  the  accumulated 
oil.  It  is  the  unvarnished  truth  that  these  two  articles 
produced  three-quarters  of  a  bucket  of  thick  soft  soap. 
The  woman's  kettle  hung  from  a  forked  stick,  sus- 
pended from  the  small  smoke  hole  above,  which  hole 
was  decorated  by  a  deep  sable  fringe  of  soot.  From  it 
bits  would  occasionally  flutter  down  into  the  soup.  This 
seemed  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  seasoning,  and 
was  not  removed.  At  the  door  sat  an  Indian,  who 
grinned  at  me  amiably  as  I  crawled  through  the  lowly 
portal.  He  had  a  large  piece  of  the  black,  paste-like 
tobacco  which  they  chew,  stuck  back  of  his  ear  and 
hanging  to  some  hair.  This  is  common  among  the 
Indians,  but  is  not  considered  elegant,  even  by  them- 
selves. The  swells  have  small,  elliptical  boxes,  in 
which  to  carry  snuff  or  chewing  tobacco.  I  have 
several  of  these  boxes,  which  are  very  neatly  made. 
One  is  of  native  copper  beaten  out,  and  another  of  brass. 
Wooden  bottoms  and  covers  are  fitted  in. 

On  every  side  I  noted  the  signs  of  industry.  Unlike 
the  Southern  Indians,  these  do  not  regard  work  as  dis- 
graceful and  only  fit  for  squaws  and  poor  white  trash. 
The  men  are  as  industrious  as  their  wives,  and  treat 
them  as  nearly  equal.  Racks  were  covered  with  birch 
bark,  long  withes  for  fishtraps  lay  upon  the  low  sod 
roofs,  whereon  feathery  bushes  grew,  the  only  pretty 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     u/ 

thing"  about  the  habitations,  the  well  filled  salmon 
racks  bespoke  plenty  for  the  winter,  and  there  was 
little  of  that  painful  poverty  to  be  seen  in  most  Indian 
villages. 

Holy  Cross  Mission,  the  Catholics'  most  important 
station  at  Kosoreffski,  is  410  miles  from  St.  Michael. 
Its  buildings,  large  and  commodious  for  Alaska,  stand 
in  a  little  meadow  surrounded  by  mountains.  A  high 
white  cross  spreads  its  arms  wide  to  the  heathen,  and 
just  beyond  it  you  may  see  the  boys'  building.  The 
sisters'  house  for  the  girls  is  shown  in  Chapter  XVI. 
The  little  log  chapel  glories  in  windows  of  ground 
glass  with  crosses  of  red.  An  Indian  child  shyly 
pointed  out  these  wonderful  windows  to  me  as  if  he 
feared  I  might  never  see  their  equals.  I  thought  of 
stately  cathedrals  I  had  seen,  pointing  proudly 
upward,  with  clustering  pinnacles  and  marble  columns, 
with  stone  work  fretted  to  an  airy  grace,  with  peal  of 
organ  and  voice  of  surpliced  choir  filling  the  lofty  nave ; 
I  thought  of  the  gorgeous  beauty  of  the  great  windows, 
the  Christ  benignly  bending  over  the  little  ones  he 
loved,  a  patch  of  crimson  lying  beneath  upon  the 
marble  floor  like  a  pool  of  His  precious  blood ;  Mag- 
dalene in  robe  of  mourning  amethyst,  wiping  His  feet 
with  her  amber  hair;  John  the  Beloved  comforting 
Mary  in  her  blue  robes  of  truth.  But  as  I  looked  upon 
the  little  log  chapel  with  its  cheap  colored  glass  and 
upon  the  eager  face  of  the  dusky  child,  bathed  in  the 
golden  light  of  the  sun,  I  saw  that  the  spirit  of  these 
was  that  which  filled  the  stately  cathedral,  and  a  sweet, 
still  voice  said,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me." 

As  we  came  up  to  the  Mission,  a  long  line  of  girls 
in  charge  of  two  sisters  straggled  along.  "We  are  all 
so  tired,"  said  the  sweet-faced  sister,  "that  we  can 


u8        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

scarcely  reach  home.  We  have  been  four  mountains 
over,  berrying,  and  the  girls  want  to  go  to  bed  without 
supper,  they  are  so  exhausted, ' '  and  indeed  they  looked 
so.  The  result  was  we  saw  only  the  boy  pupils.  We 
went  into  the  little  parlor  and  had  a  visit  with  Father 
Ragaru  and  Sister  Mary  Joseph.  Sister  Mary  Stephen, 
the  head  of  the  house,  was  away  at  the  time.  I  after- 
ward met  this  strong  character  at  St.  Michael.  Her 
face  proclaims  the  ability  which  is  recognized  by  every- 
one. We  went  into  the  school  hall,  and  the  pleasant- 
faced  young  lay-brother  brought  in  his  charges.  We 
were  a  diverse  company.  Dr.  Sheldon  Jackson,  moder- 
ator of  the  Presbyterian  Church  of  the  United  States, 
Mrs.  Beiler,  president  of  the  Methodist  Women's  Board 
of  Missions,  Father  Ragaru,  a  French  Jesuit,  the  lovely 
Mary  Joseph,  of  the  Canadian  Order  of  St.  Anne,  with 
her  high  bred  manner,  Captain  Barr,  and  myself,  of  a 
family  Congregational  since  it  quit  being  Puritan,  and 
American  for  270  years.  Some  of  the  miners  from  the 
boat  had  now  come  in,  and  we  had  the  merriest  infor- 
mal school  examination,  surely,  that  ever  was  held. 
We  asked  questions  as  we  liked,  and  the  pupils 
answered  very  creditably,  even  for  white  boys  of  their 
ages.  When  asked  their  favorite  generals,  they  eagerly 
replied:  Lee,  Grant,  Sherman,  and  Sheridan.  "George 
Washington  was  the  first  President  of  the  United 
States,"  answered  one  boy,  when  another  interrupted, 
"Oh,  he  was  greater  than  that,  he  was  a  general." 

The  pupils  did  not  answer  by  rote,  indeed  they  could 
not,  as  we  all  asked  what  we  pleased,  but  showed  a 
general  intelligence  and  information  that  was  sur- 
prising, and  we  told  the  lay  brother  so.  The  boys 
were  all  dressed  in  uniform,  red  blouses  trimmed  with 
white  braid,  caps  with  gilt  bands  and  seal  boots.  They 
are  extremely  proud  of  this  showy  garb,  and  it  attracts 


CHURCH   AT   HOLY   CROSS    MISSION  —  KOSOREKSKI,   ALASKA. 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS    119 

the  Indians  to  the  school,  at  which  there  are  sixty 
pupils.  Catholics  study  these  adjuncts,  and  it  would 
be  well  if  more  Protestants  did.  I  took  a  picture  as 
they  came  down  with  the  lay-brother  to  see  the  Healy. 
After  the  questions,  the  boys  sang  for  us.  The  Indi- 
ans of  the  Yukon  have  very  good  voices,  and  readily 
pick  up  airs.  I  remember  one  day  hearing  one  of  the 
crew  singing  Suanee  River  with  almost  the  pathos  of  a 
negro.  I  would  suggest  that  somebody  send  some 
juvenile  song  books  up  the  Yukon.  These  boys  sang 
an  odd  mixture;  one  of  them,  delivered  with  great 
gusto  and  business-like  precision,  was  " Billy  Boy." 
4 'Can  she  make  a  cherry  pie,  Billy  Boy,  Billy  Boy," 
they  inquired  earnestly,  and  answered  themselves  with 
satisfaction,  "She  can  make  a  cherry  pie,  fast's  a  cat 
can  wink  her  eye,  she's  a  young  thing  and  cannot  leave 
her  mother. ' '  The  song  was  very  touching.  One  of 
the  older  boys  brought  out  an  autoharp  and  played 
''Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee." 

Next,  "Did  we  want  to  see  the  boys  drill?"  Of 
course  we  did.  The  older  boys  got  their  wooden  guns, 
very  good  imitations,  which  each  little  soldier  had 
carved  for  himself,  and  the  captain  brandished  his 
wooden  sword  with  cross  hilt  covered  with  tin  foil,  and 
tied  a  red,  white  and  blue  ribbon  around  his  arm  for 
"colors,"  as  they  had  no  flag.  They  really  drilled 
very  well.  I  noticed  the  little  boys  appeared  restless 
at  the  end,  and  that  one  of  them  spoke  to  the  boyish 
lay-brother,  who  hesitated,  but  finally,  with  a  dubious 
look  at  Dr.  Jackson,  who  is  U.  S.  Commissioner  of 
Education  in  Alaska,  asked  if  we  would  like  to  see  the 
small  boys'  parody.  He  explained  that  the  little  fel- 
lows were  very  jealous  when  the  larger  boys  began  to 
drill,  and  carrying  sticks  for  guns,  would  imitate  the 
evolutions  as  ridiculously  as  possible,  for  good-natured 


120        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

revenge.  To  please  them,  he  had  allowed  the  little 
fellows  to  perform  their  parody,  which  the  older  ones 
no  longer  resented.  Well,  the  youngsters  came  out, 
borrowing  the  others'  guns,  and  fell  into  the  crooked- 
est  of  lines.  Each  wore  the  most  idiotic  expression 
he  could  assume,  and  the  captain  was  so  pompous  that 
he  almost  fell  over  backward,  like  a  pouter  pigeon.  He 
ordered  them  to  "march,  go,  get,  walk."  Some 
started,  more  looked  stupidly  at  him.  I  laughed  till 
I  cried.  If  De  Wolf  Hopper's  Cambodians  in  Wang 
were  half  so  funny  as  these  seven  and  eight  year  old 
Indian  boys,  he  could  never  finish  the  opera.  The 
captain's  explanatory  commands  and  affected  impa- 
tience over  their  imbecility  were  side-splitting.  When 
the  column  was  finally  got  into  motion  he  called  out, 
"double-quick."  One  boy  ran  wildly  here  and  there, 
the  others  performed  the  dead  march  in  Saul.  The 
end  boy,  the  baby  of  the  school,  was  wonderfully 
funny.  He  fell  over  his  gun,  bumped  into  the  cor- 
poral, and  wore  so  dense  a  look  of  stupidity  that  it  was 
a  real  relief  to  see  an  irrepressible  smile  break  forth 
occasionally  when  he  gratified  himself  with  some  new 
awkwardness.  The  captain's  efforts  to  stop  his  troops 
were  even  more  laborious  than  to  get  them  into 
motion.  Like  all  genuine  Americans,  they  were  hard 
to  '•  arouse,  but  harder  to  quiet.  "Halt!"  cried  he. 
"Stop.  Go  no  farther.  Quit.  Hold  your  legs,  you 
good-for-nothings. ' '  After  all  the  others  had  individ- 
ually obeyed  orders,  the  small  end  boy  had  to  be  forci- 
bly brought  to  a  stand. 

After  this,  Sister  Mary  Joseph  took  me  out  into  the 
old-fashioned  garden  of  vegetables  bordered  with 
flowers,  California  poppies,  immortelles,  mignonette, 
marigolds,  red  poppies.  She  gave  each  of  us  a  great 
bunch  of  the  dear  "homey"  things,  and  I  held  a  sprig  of 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     121 

sweet  mignonette  to  my  face  to  make  me  feel  happy 
and  good.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  was  a  little  arbor, 
and  within  it  a  succession  of  steps  covered  with  white 
cotton  strewn  with  spruce  and  fern  leaves,  leading  to 
a  little  image  of  Mary  and  the  Blessed  Child.  Here 
and  there  stood  tin  cans  filled  with  wild  flowers.  This 
shrine,  the  sister  said,  was  daily  dressed  by  the  girls. 
The  sister  also  gathered  us  a  lot  of  fresh  vegetables, 
a  gift  only  to  be  appreciated  by  those  who  have  been 
living  altogether  on  canned  goods,  no  matter  how 
choice,  for  any  length  of  time. 

Captain  Barr  is  one  of  those  rare  men  who  always 
remember  people's  tastes  and  talents.  Knowing 
Father  Ragaru's  valuable  work  in  reducing  Tinneh 
language  to  writing  and  my  appreciation  of  all  ethno- 
logic knowledge,  he  suggested  that  the  father  show 
me  his  manuscripts.  The  others  returned  to  the  boat, 
and  I  spent  a  fascinating  hour  over  them.  Father 
Ragaru  has  been  in  the  country  but  ten  years,  yet  the 
Indians  say  he  speaks  the  difficult  Tinneh  language  with 
absolute  perfection,  as  if  it  were  his  mother  tongue, 
not  only  in  construction  but  intonation.  How  he  has 
achieved  it  is  beyond  my  ken.  Father  Ragaru  showed 
me  a  large  ledger-shaped  blank  book  in  which,  in  his 
small,  exquisite  chirography,  he  had  written  the 
inflexions  of  verbs.  Carry  alone  filled  twenty-three  of 
these  large  pages,  written  closely  with  ink  and  a  fine 
pen.  He  has  divided  the  forms  of  the  verbs  into  simple 
or  indicative,  iterative,  frequentative,  and  habituative, 
for  instance : 

/  start, 

I  start  again, 

I  often  start, 

I  always  start. 
But  remember  that  for  all  the  different  meanings  the 


122        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

equivalent  of  start  in  Tinneh  is  not  simply  changed  in 
form,  but  an  entirely  different  word  is  used.  There 
are  still  other  phases  of  the  meaning,  though,  indi- 
cated by  the  divisions:  Attentive  (tried  to  start),  reflec- 
tive (I  am  the  person  benefited  by  the  starting),  ficta- 
tive  (I  tried  but  failed  to  start),  continuative  (I  kept 
going),  and  terminative  (stopped  going).  I  really 
thought  myself  it  was  in -terminable,  and  remember 
again,  all  these  are  distinct  words,  not  variations.  But 
it  is  not  yet  finished,  there  are  different  negatives  for 
each,  and  many  different  adjectives  for  every  class  of 
verb.  Why,  the  irregular  French  verbs  of  my  girl- 
hood are  monotony  itself  compared  with  these.  When 
you  arrive,  for  instance  (and  I  couldn't  arrive  at  a 
knowledge  of  this  verbose  language  if  my  salvation 
depended  upon  it),  if  you  arrive  at  a  high  place,  it  is 
one  word,  if  you  arrive  at  a  low  place  it  is  another,  and 
so  on.  I  realize  now  why  the  Tinneh  sometimes  fail 
to  dry  enough  salmon  to  keep  from  growing  hungry 
toward  spring:  they  have  had  to  learn  a  new  verb. 
I  know  why  the  infant  mortality  is  so  high :  the  young 
children  have  struggled  beyond  their  strength  with  the 
intricacies  of  their  language.  I  understand  why  the 
Tinneh  is  so  glad  to  learn  English :  it  is  so  restful,  it  is 
such  a  saving  of  time  and  tongue.  He  can  say  there 
are  twelve  men,  instead  of  "ten  men  and  two  men 
added." 

The  Indians  are  given  to  nicknames.  The  steamer 
P.  B.  Weareis  "the  boat  with  two  chimneys"  (smoke- 
stacks). The  Alice  has  a  guard  over  her  stack, 
and  is  dubbed  "Chimney  with  the  hat;"  one  of  the 
sisters  is  called  "Plump-and- jolly;"  another,  "Bird- 
that-chirps-fast,  ' '  because  she  is  lively  and  talks  rapidly. 
Babies  are  named  at  two  or  three  weeks,  and  some, 
in  the  extravagant  verbal  usage  of  the  Tinneh,  are 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     123 

called  whole  sentences.  One  little  girl  at  the  mission 
is  named  "My-mother-told-me;"  another,  "Devil's 
mother, ' '  while  the  names  of  many  of  them  are  so  dis- 
gustingly obscene  that  Father  Ragaru  would  not  trans- 
late them  for  me.  These  names  are  very  common 
among  a  people  who  have  no  regard  for  chastity,  and 
who  have  gained  none  by  contact  with  white  miners. 
Nulato  is  a  market  for  squaws,  who  are  regularly  sold 
to  these  civilized(? )  men,  who  have  had  the  audacity 
to  complain  to  Father  Ragaru  about  his  opposition. 

Father  Ragaru  has  not  only  completely  mastered  the 
Tinneh  language  and  reduced  it  to  writing,  but  he  is 
indefatigable  in  obtaining  from  the  Indians,  not  only 
of  his  mission  but  of  all  the  tribes  he  meets,  their 
ancient  myths  and  history.  He  showed  me  many 
books  filled  with  these,  taken  down  from  the  very  lips 
of  the  old,  and  from  the  games  and  stories  of  the  young. 
These  he  has  carefully  translated  from  Tinneh  into 
French,  and  is  now  preparing  some  in  English.  The 
Indians  are  extremely  sensitive  to  ridicule  and  it  is  very 
difficult  to  obtain  these  stories,  which  are  ethnologically 
so  valuable,  and  which  it  will  soon  be  too  late  to  pre- 
serve; but  Father  Ragaru  has  won  their  liking  and 
their  admiration  so  that  he  has  obtained  a  large  num- 
ber of  these  traditions  which  have  passed  on  from 
father  to  son  for  hundreds  of  years.  He  is  very  exact 
in  his  work,  and  it  should  all  be  obtained  for  our  own 
Bureau  of  Ethnology  at  Washington  instead  of  being 
sent  to  France.  Many  of  the  stories  told  are  so  ob- 
scene that  their  filth  can  cover  nothing  good ;  some  are 
imaginative  and  really  poetic ;  some  are  tribal  history 
and  deeds ;  some  are  allegorical  and  ethical.  A  number 
have  lost  their  meaning  to  the  people  and  although  they 
still  repeat  them,  none  of  the  tribe  understand  them 
in  the  least.  Among  the  boys  at  the  mission  are  a 


i24        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

number  of  very  bright  half  breeds,  and  they  have 
materially  assisted  in  gathering  the  mass  of  valuable 
material  Father  Ragaru  has.  He  is  very  modest  about 
his  work,  and  shows  piles  of  manuscript  as  if  the  great 
amount  of  work  represented  were  but  trifling.  He  is 
very  jolly  and  derived  much  amusement  from  my 
attempt  to  read  the  continued-in-our-next  words  of  the 
Tinneh  language.  He  was  pleased  to  say  that  my 
accent  promised  I  could  readily  learn  it.  I  told  him 
that  in  view  of  the  length  of  the  words  and  the 
shortness  of  life,  not  to  mention  the  complications  of 
the  Tinneh  grammar  and  of  mortal  affairs,  I  should  not 
attempt  it.  What  is  the  use,  anyway,  when  a  few  more 
years  will  provide  me,  in  a  breath,  with  all  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  universe?  So  those  who  assume  to  be  wise 
in  future  things  say,  though  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it. 

Father  Ragaru  gave  me  a  little  book,  "  Catholic 
Prayers  and  Hymns  in  the  Tinneh  Language,"  from 
the  "Indian  Boys'  Press,  Holy  Cross  Mission,  Kos- 
oreffski,  Alaska,  1897."  It  was  set  up,  printed  and 
bound  by  three  boys  of  the  school.  The  cover  is  of 
black  figured  calico.  Alex  Sipary,  one  of  the  com- 
positors, a  half  breed  boy  of  about  fourteen,  wrote  his 
name  very  nicely  upon  the  fly-leaf  for  me. 

Perhaps  you  would  be  interested  in  a  selection  from 
the  beginning  of  the  book.  In  case  you  wish  to  read 
it  aloud  to  your  friends  I  will  repeat  the  direction 
given  by  one  of  the  miners  as  to  the  proper  Tinneh 
accent:  "Read  very  rapidly,  and  as  if  you  had  a  hare- 
lip and  a  cold  in  your  head. " 

JESUS  CHRISTUS 
Gotsetzagaditaihzen 

Tenagotd  nen  ydget  te-inta;  nuusa  ka*doguta", 
tetlekzen  tenadzaya  nen  gonbnla  ketoydn  inlan; 
nogoyb  konencdca  ybgit  goca"tetan. 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     125 

Makatoguta*ye  tenattbnelaih  tsbgoyan ;  tsogutlakazen 
tenarokalganitneih  tsogutlakazen  tena"tsetagatatna 
gamrokalgatzeneih  tsogoka,  tenatseinni  tsogutlakazen 
tsogutotkella  tdgogon.  Isogutlakatzen  gokotsetze 
tenalilo.  Amen. 

When  the  Catholics  first  founded  this  mission  they 
were  much  distrusted  by  the  Indians.  The  sisters 
had  taken  in  a  little  cripple  girl,  who  seemed  to  be 
frightened  and  persisted  in  leaving.  The  spirit  grew 
among  the  pupils.  The  sisters  could  not  find  out  what 
was  the  trouble.  At  last  some  Indians  were  overheard 
spreading  the  fearful  tale.  The  pupils  had  heard 
a  strange  and  terrible  noise  every  day.  This  awful 
sound  proceeded  from  a  huge  eel  which  was  concealed 
behind  a  mountain,  and  every  day  a  sister  went  to  feed 
the  dreadful  creature.  By  and  by  this  beast — they 
seemed  to  regard  it  as  the  frightful  "worm"  of  ancient 
Saxon  lore,  which  has  always  affected  my  imagination 
more  than  any  other  horror — would  bear  young  and 
these  would  spread  all  over  the  Yukon  country  and 
kill  the  people.  By  dint  of  much  persuasion  the  noise 
was  finally  located.  It  was — you  would  not  guess  it  if 
I  gave  you  a  thousand  chances — an  alarm  clock,  rightly 
named  indeed ! 

Another  story  went  the  rounds  of  the  Tinneh  gossips 
that  the  priest  had  buried  a  child  in  the  cellar  of  the 
church  and  that  the  teachers  were  eating  the  dead. 

Father  Ragaru  says  that  their  tribal  religious  beliefs 
are  of  the  vaguest.  He  has  not  yet  succeeded  in 
finding  from  the  old  people  who  have  not  been  influ- 
enced by  the  whites  what  their  ideas  of  such  things 
are.  Most  of  them  assert,  however,  that  only  the 
Shamans  have  souls.  When  the  Russian  introduced 
among  the  Indians  blankets  inoculated  with  small- 
pox, the  Tinnehs  died  in  great  numbers.  It  is  these, 


126        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

their  descendants  say,  who,  reincarnated,  are  com- 
ing again  into  the  Yukon  country  as  whites.  They 
can't  keep  out.  Perhaps  our  friends  the  theosophists 
will  enlighten  us  upon  this  subject,  for  they  surely 
can.  There  is  nothing  under  heaven  or  earth,  or  even 
the  universe  at  large,  that  they  do  not  know.  If  there 
were,  they  would  simply  consult  one  of  their  Mahat- 
mas  and  the  thing  would  be  as  plain  as  a,  b,  c. 

It  is  extremely  interesting  to  find  among  a  barbarous 
people  many  tales  which  seem  to  be  common  to  all 
peoples,  varied  a  little  to  suit  the  race  and  age.  Such 
myths  seem  to  be  fundamental  truths  allegorically  told, 
but  are  accepted  by  the  ignorant  as  real.  Among  the 
Tinnehs,  for  instance,  is  one  which  you  may  trace 
through  many  times  and  climes.  As  they  tell  it,  the 
story  is  almost  identical  with  the  German  were-wolf. 

The  Tinnehs  say  that  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a 
woman  who  lived  virtuously  with  her  husband  and 
children  by  the  great  river.  But  very  frequently  she 
would  be  missing,  and  at  such  times  a  fierce  bear 
prowled  about  near  the  village  and  carried  off  the 
unwary.  So  daring  became  the  devastations  of  this 
bloody  beast  that  a  party  of  hunters  banded  together 
to  track  down  and  kill  him.  The  husband  of  the 
woman  was  one  of  those  who  bravely  attacked  the 
bear  and  was  killed  by  it.  The  woman  afterward 
returned  to  her  own  shape  and  children.  I  was  not 
able  to  make  out  the  ending.  But  there  we  have  Dr. 
Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,  ** Serene  going  'way  off  and 
naughty  girl  coming, ' '  the  angel  and  the  devil  lurking 
in  every  human  being.  It  is  true  as  Heaven  and  Hell, 
as  old  as  Eden,  as  new  as  Today. 

But  it  was  growing  late ;  I  had  to  return  to  the  boat. 
I  thanked  Father  Ragaru  for  the  delightful  time  he 
had  passed  so  quickly  and  reluctantly  bade  him  good 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS    127 

night.  On  the  way  to  the  boat  I  happened  to  think 
that  perhaps  he  would  allow  me  to  copy  one  of  the 
myths  which  he  had  taken  down,  and  I  sent  back  to  ask 
him  if  he  would  trust  me  with  the  book  so  that  I  might 
copy  one  before  we  left  at  dawn.  He  sent  word  that 
he  had  none  translated  which  I  would  care  for,  but 
that  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  some  medicine  to  a  sick 
Indian  he  would  follow  to  the  boat  and  read  off  a 
translation  for  me.  The  nights  had  grown  dark,  for 
the  summer  was  ending.  In  a  little  while  I  could 
see  moving  lights  and  Father  Ragaru,  the  lay-brother, 
and  two  Indian  boys  carrying  lanterns  came  down  to 
the  rough  bank  and  up  into  the  captain's  room  where 
the  lanterns  supplemented  the  dim  little  swinging  lamp. 
There,  surrounded  by  the  stillness  of  that  lonely  river, 
I  took  down  this  myth  as  the  father  translated  it, 
literally,  as  I  had  requested,  so  that  it  has  lost  none 
of  the  quaintness  of  the  original,  though  it  has  lost  the 
expressive  shrugs  and  grimaces  of  the  Frenchman. 
Father  Ragaru  agrees  with  me  that  the  legend  embod- 
ies the  universal  idea  of  the  immaculate  conception 
held  by  most  peoples  with  regard  to  their  gods  or  good 
spirits.  It  is  a  trifle  ambiguous  in  places,  but  I  pre- 
ferred to  leave  the  story  as  it  was  told.  "They  say"  is 
as  commmon  among  the  Tinnehs,  by  the  way,  as  on 
dit  among  the  French.  This,  one  of  their  most 
ancient  myths,  pertains  to 

THE  CROW 

One  day,  they  say,  there  was  a  large  village,  many 
people.  There  was  also  a  large  house  and  there,  out- 
side the  door,  at  the  right  side,  something  was  thrown. 
What  does  it  cover  (or  hide)  ?  People  were  lounging 
about  when  all  suddenly  the  sun  disappeared  and  it 
became  dark.  People  walked  about  with  torches. 

What  to  do  then?     And  it  continued  to  be  dark. 


128        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

Then  an  old  woman  said  thus:  " Where  is  he  who 
will  bring  back  the  sun  to  us?"  But  who,  who  will  do 
it?  The  one  who  can  do  it  is  not."  Then  the  people 
brought  many  gifts  to  that  which  lay  upon  the  ground. 
44 In  exchange  for  this  go  fly  for  us  to  the  sun."  But 
no  (with  the  Frenchman's  shrug),  he  did  not  even 
move.  For  that  reason  they  took  back  everything. 
"But  what  can  we  give  to  him?"  they  ask  also.  "We 
will  kill  for  you  two  dogs."  Then  it  began  to  move. 
"Aha,"  said  he. 

They  fed  him  with  grease.  They  fattened  the  dogs 
and  boiled  them.  Then  he  came  from  the  dark  place 
where  he  was  and  began  to  fly.  And  he  flew  (he  has 
not  decided  where  he  is  going),  whence  will  he  fly? 
Then  he  perceived  some  light  and  from  that  dark  place 
he  flew  and  kept  on  flying.  Toward  a  village  he  flew 
and  soared.  Then  a  nice  woman,  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
came  down  to  the  river  to  get  water.  From  a  little 
hole  she  took  water  and  drank.  Then  It  became 
a  twig  and  fell  into  the  cup.  She  tried  indeed  to  push 
it  aside  without  success.  It  continued  to  reappear  in 
the  cup.  Finally  with  That  in  the  cup  she  drank.  She 
went  back  up  to  the  village  and  entered  the  house. 
When  the  time  came  she  bore  a  child.  And  the  baby 
began  to  walk  and  was  clinging  to  everything,  and  he 
took  a  little  package  from  under  his  mother's  pillow. 
Then  he  looked  in  the  corner  of  the  house  and  he  saw 
the  sun.  He  took  it,  went  into  the  middle  of  the  house. 
He  began  to  roll  it  toward  the  entrance  (house 
approached  by  a  tunnel).  His  mother  went  and  got  it 
and  put  it  back  into  the  corner.  Then  the  child  began 
to  cry.  "Be  quiet,"  said  his  mother,  but  he  contin- 
ued to  cry.  "Stop  crying,"  said  his  uncle  (he  had  no 
father),  but  he  cried  the  harder.  Another  of  his  uncles 
said,  "You  want  the  sun?  It  is  there"  (pointing  to 


THE  MISSION  AND  INDIAN  MYTHS     129 

it),  and  the  child  stopped  crying  but  sobbed.  The 
mother  took  the  sun  and  gave  it  to  the  child.  He 
began  again  to  handle  it  like  a  ball  and  to  make  it  roll 
toward  the  entrance.  After  him  she  went,  she  placed 
the  child  outside  the  entrance  and  beyond  the  tunnel. 
And  the  child  became  a  crow  and  flew  with  the  sun 
toward  his  house  and  he  gave  it  back  to  the  people. 
And  it  began  to  be  daylight.  "Thanks,"  said  they  to 
him.  And  afterward  this  crow  to  the  entrance  went 
back.  And  again  they  covered  him  with  the  fur. 

Kot-a   (That's  all.     The    Tinnehs    invariably   end 
their  stories  thus). 


CHAPTER  IX 

ANVIK   AND   INDIAN   DEATH   CUSTOMS 

What  a  pity  that  the  brain's  camera  obscura  has  no 
spring,  pressing  which  would  open  to  others'  view  the 
beautiful  pictures  which  Memory  has  "fixed"  upon  the 
sensitized  plates.  A  pity  to  hide  them  in  the  dark  room 
of  one's  own  head  when,  could  they  be  hung,  each  inks 
proper  frame  of  circumstance  and  under  the  light  of 
its  own  day,  many  could  share  the  pleasure.  Let  me 
try  to  show  you  Anvik,  taken  one  summer  afternoon 
as,  all  unaware,  she  lay  dreamily  by  the  river.  Photog- 
rapher Eye  drew  his  curtain,  focused  his  lens,  and  the 
picture  was  instantaneously  reproduced,  in  vivid  colors 
and  with  moving  figures  and  changing  expressions,  like 
some  marvelous,  full-sized  cinemetograph.  One  can 
even  hear  in  my  picture,  the  droning  of  insects,  the 
bark  of  a  dog,  the  purl  of  the  water,  the  laugh  of  a 
little  child.  I  received  the  proof  afterward  but  the 
picture  could  not  be  improved.  Memory  fixed  it  and 
it  has  never  faded. 

In  the  foreground  the  turbid  Yukon  hurries  by.  It 
has  been  to  Anvik  so  often  that  it  does  not  even  take 
time  to  run  up  into  the  little  slough  today,  having 
important  business  on  the  coast,  457  miles  away. 
Look  across  the  broad  water.  See  the  Anvik  River 
coming,  beautifully  blue,  and  quiet,  and  clear,  shaming 
the  sandy  Yukon's  vulgar  haste  and  devotion  to  com- 
merce. But  like  many  another  youth's,  its  purity 
is  largely  a  matter  of  environment.  Its  mother  is  a 
mountain  lake,  and  the  Anvik  roams  among  the  peace- 

130 


THE    EPISCOPAL   CHURCH    AT   A^.VIK. 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS       131 

ful  hills,  fed  by  the  untraveled  snows,  and  anxious 
about  nothing.  But  it  longs  to  know  life.  See  it 
mingling  there  with  the  very  river  it  despised. 
Instantly  its  purity  is  sullied,  now  it  is  utterly  lost,  for 
the  Anvik  is  "in  the  swim." 

For  background  we  have  the  hills  covered  densely 
with  firs  standing  very  straight,  with  their  boughs  so 
close  and  short  that  the  trees  resemble  hop  vines 
climbing  their  tall  poles,  or  the  close-clipped  trees  of 
a  Noah's  ark.  The  sky  is  a  great  turquoise  and  the 
banks  are  emeralds.  Summer  is  so  short  in  Alaska 
that  the  greens,  always  that  of  early  spring,  vivid  and 
unfading.  Down  on  the  shore  cuddles  the  little  Indian 
village,  with  tents  for  those  who  will  not  live  indoors. 
Upon  the  racks  the  silver  sides  of  the  salmon  gleam. 
Across  the  little  slough,  now  almost  dry,  lies  a  log  to 
bridge  it,  and  the  canoes  are  drawn  up.  Upon  the 
little  slope  on  the  other  side  cluster  the  buildings  of 
the  Episcopal  mission,  and  at  its  top  is  the  home  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chapman,  pretty  and  comfortable,  and 
regarded  as  palatial  by  the  Indians.  The  mission 
owns  a  little  sawmill,  which  is  leased  to  the  traders, 
so  that  the  buildings  are  of  lumber  instead  of  logs, 
almost  the  only  ones  in  the  Yukon.  Note,  too,  the 
little  porch,  positively  the  only  such  architectural 
adornment  I  saw.  Double  poppies  blazed  along  the 
walk  like  torch-bearing  lackeys  to  light  us  to  the  door, 
and  riotous  sweet  peas  clambered  about  the  porch  as 
if  anxious  for  that  vantage  ground  to  the  lovely  view 
which  stretched  far  and  wide.  I  have  done  my  poor 
best,  but  I  cannot  make  you  see  it  all.  The  picture 
hangs,  after  all,  in  my  own  gallery,  and  cannot  be 
yours. 

Mr.  Chapman  had  come  down  to  the  boat  to  meet  us 
and  to  conduct  us  to  his  pretty  little  Northern  home 


132        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

where  Mrs.  Chapman  received  us  cordially.  Pictures, 
books,  womanly  knick-knacks — oh,  it  was  so  home- 
like. Only  the  double  windows  and  the  packed  space 
of  eight  inches  between  walls  suggested  the  shut-in 
winters.  "Yes,  we  really  enjoy  living  here,"  the  wife 
said.  "The  Indians  are  affectionate  and  grateful  and 
we  trust  them  thoroughly.  Why,  Mr.  Chapman  went 
down  the  Kuskokwim  valley  last  winter  with  no  other 
company  than  one  Indian.  They  traveled  700  miles 
and  were  lost  for  several  days  in  the  mountains.  They 
suffered  a  great  deal,  so  much  so  that  although  they 
were  gone  but  a  few  weeks,  Mr.  Chapman  was  so 
altered  by  exposure  and  privation  that  I  didn't  recog- 
nize him  when  he  came  home.  At  any  time  that 
Indian  might  have  robbed  and  abandoned  my  hus- 
band, who  was  ill,  and  might  himself  have  returned ; 
but  instead  he  took  the  best  care  of  Mr.  Chapman." 

Anvik  is  an  old  Indian  village  and  the  best  place  on 
the  river  for  curios,  although  the  Indians  there  are 
beginning  to  charge  big  prices  since  a  San  Francisco 
florist  sent  an  order,  last  summer,  for  a  thousand  birch 
baskets  for  his  trade.  He  could,  of  course,  have 
obtained  them  much  nearer  home,  but  I  suppose  he 
thought  they'd  be  an  attraction,  since  everybody 
was  talking  Alaska.  Mrs.  Chapman  had  many  odd 
things  scattered  about,  gifts  of  their  parishioners,  so  to 
speak.  She  gave  me  a  wooden  dish  set  with  blue  beads 
at  intervals  along  the  edge.  Here  are  made  many  of 
the  curious  rain-coats  worn  both  by  Eskimo  and 
Indians  to  protect  their  fur  parkas.  They  are  made 
of  strips  of  seal  intestines  a  few  inches  wide,  sewed 
neatly  in  double  seams  with  a  vegetable  fiber.  The 
hoods  and  wrists  draw  up  by  strings  of  the  same  and 
the  bottom  of  this  Arctic  mackintosh  is  strengthened 
by  a  narrow  border  of  seal  skin  with  the  hair  on. 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS        133 

When  dry  this  garment  is  stiff  like  parchment,  but 
when  wet  it  is  as  soft  and  pliable  as  silk.  It  weighs 
but  a  few  ounces,  is  waterproof  and  durable.  See  an 
Eskimo  wearing  one  of  these  raincoats  and  emerging 
from  the  hole  of  his  skin  kiak  and  he  looks  all  of  a 
piece  with  his  boat,  like  some  novel  aquatic  animal. 

Last  year  this  mission  had  thirty-six  pupils.  It  is 
very  well  equipped.  You  can  see  the  carpenter  shop 
just  beyond  the  little  church.  There  are  paneled  doors 
and  a  bell,  too,  in  this  Indian  temple.  It  was  vacation, 
but  I  went  over  to  see  the  girls'  school  quarters  and  a 
few  of  the  pupils  who  had  remained.  The  school  room 
walls  were  almost  covered  with  colored  pictures  of 
animals  which  strongly  resembled  circus  bills,  and  the 
girls  were  extremely  proud  of  being  able  to  name  all 
the  strange  beasts.  None  of  them  had  ever  seen  a 
horse.  Off  the  school  room  was  a  neat  little  kitchen, 
where  the  girls  were  preparing  a  meal.  Miss  Sabine, 
the  teacher,  is  from  Philadelphia.  She  says  the 
Indian  girls  are  very  bright,  docile  and  lovable,  much 
more  easily  governed  and  quite  as  easily  taught  as 
white  girls  of  their  ages.  I  saw  a  little  type-written 
notice  on  the  wall:  "No  tardy  pupil  will  be  allowed 
to  compete  in  any  fig  or  cracker  contest  on  the  day  of 
the  delinquency."  Isn't  that  too  funny?  It  seems 
Mr.  Chapman  often  comes  in  for  an  informal  quiz,  his 
pockets  furnished  with  these  dainties  for  rewards  of 
merit.  But  the  idea  of  the  Indian,  who  has  always 
held  that  "Time  was  made  for  slaves,"  held  to  the 
stroke  of  a  clock,  struck  me  as  oddly  as  seeing  a  cat, 
one  day,  performing  in  a  circus.  Think  of  lazy,  lux- 
urious, pampered  Pussy's  having  to  work  for  a  living! 
Native  parents  living  in  filth  across  the  slough  of 
Ignorance  yonder,  serve  on  the  school  committee. 
It  is  a  very  sensible  idea,  designed  not  only  to  obtain, 


134        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

by  a  very  innocent  flattery,  the  hearty  cooperation  of 
the  parents  in  the  work  of  the  mission,  but  to  place 
them  in  their  rightful  position  of  authority,  even 
though  their  children's  knowledge  may  outstrip  their 
own.  Then  I'll  tell  you  a  third  thing  that  was  unex- 
pected. "Look  behind  the  door,"  said  Miss  Sabine. 
"It  isn't!"  exclaimed  I.  "It  is,"  replied  she.  And 
it  was ;  a  telephone,  the  only  one  in  Alaska.  It  was 
put  up  by  a  friend  for  Mr.  Chapman  and  communi- 
cates with  other  buildings  so  that  in  severe  weather 
trifles  may  be  referred  to  Mr.  Chapman  without  going 
about.  Miss  Sabine  took  me  into  her  pretty  little 
room  with  its  mission-made  dresser  and  queer  little 
contrivances.  Were  she  stranded  upon  the  North  pole 
and  not  expecting  another  human  being  during  her 
natural  life,  you  would  find  that  a  woman,  did  you  blun- 
der upon  her,  had  draped  the  pole  with  her  sash,  spread 
a  white  bear  skin  rug,  grouped  some  small  icebergs 
artistically  for  furniture,  had  at  least  one  photograph 
sticking  into  a  crack,  and  had  contrived  to  save  from 
the  wreck  a  sheet,  her  handglass  and  toothbrush,  a 
napkin,  hatpin  and  some  hairpins.  The  sheet  would 
be  hung  for  a  curtain,  the  toilet  articles  would  be  lying 
on  an  ice-marble  washstand,  she  would  have  gathered 
snow  for  her  bath  and  arranged  a  porch.  The  hairpins 
would  serve  as  tools  and  implements  for  all  uses  and  the 
hatpin  to  supplement  them  and  as  a  weapon  of  defense 
from  always  expected  mice.  When  you  found  her  she 
would  very  probably  be  repairing  her  only  gown  in- 
some  occult  way,  but  her  hair  would  be  "done  up" 
and  her  hands  clean,  that  is  certain.  How  different 
with  men,  even  men  who  pass  for  particular  at  home. 
You  should  see  them  and  their  rooms  in  Alaska ! 

I  heard  that  a  dead  boy  was  lying  in  the  Indian 
village,  however,  and  I  hurried  across  the  slough  on 


i     V 


DEAD    BOY   AT   ANVIK 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS        135 

a  log1.  I  am  no  lumberman  and  should  have  fallen  into 
dense  "Ignorance"  had  it  not  been  for  the  helping 
hand  of  Bishop  Rowe,  who  performed  the  highly  min- 
isterial act  of  placing  my  feet  upon  firm  ground.  Such 
a  young  and  pleasant  face  has  he,  a  cheery  voice  and  a 
manner  bearing  no  trace  of  "I  am  holier  than  thou. " 
Bishop  Rowe's  headquarters  are  at  Sitka,  but  he  was 
visiting  the  Yukon  missions. 

As  I  hurried  along,  I  met  Mr.  Kjellman,  who  was 
arguing  with  a  bear  cub  about  the  most  feasible  way 
to  the  boat.  He  said  Captain  Tuttle  of  the  Bear 
wanted  one  for  a  mascot,  and  this  was  being 
pressed  into  the  revenue  service.  It  was  a  pretty  little 
thing,  but  had  lost  one  of  its  claws  and  maimed 
another  in  the  trap  which  captured  it.  I  left  them  to 
argue  it  out  and  hurried  along. 

As  is  the  Indian  custom,  the  corpse  was  not  in  the 
house,  but  was  under  a  tent  roof  in  a  sort  of  booth 
next  it.  The  dead  boy  was  upon  the  ground  in  a  half 
sitting  position.  The  head  was  wound  with  a  ban- 
dana handkerchief  of  which,  in  life,  he  had  been  very 
proud.  Around  his  neck  and  covering  the  mouth  and 
chin  was  a  cotton  muffler.  He  was  dressed  in  a  woolen 
shirt  and  trousers ;  the  feet  that  would  walk  no  more 
were  in  clumsy  mukluks,  and  the  still  hands  were  cold 
in  spite  of  their  heavy  buckskin  mittens.  All  his 
belongings  were  grouped  about  him.  His  tawdry 
scarlet  cap  hung  beside  the  head  whose  covering  would 
soon  be  of  sod,  and  an  Indian  bag  was  at  the  other  side. 
The  lad's  parents  were  evidently  people  of  wealth,  for 
another  suit  of  clothes,  folded,  was  lying  at  his  feet. 
At  one  side  was  a  stick  about  a  yard  high,  and  upon 
it  a  candle.  The  face  haunts  me.  The  eyes  were 
closed  and  the  nostrils  were  filled  with  cotton.  He 
had  been  perfectly  well  and  had  died  of  a  hemorrhage, 


136        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

so  that  the  body  was  not  wasted,  and  the  face  had 
none  of  the  pallor  we  associate  with  death.  His 
immovableness  seemed  an  appalling  deception.  The 
sun  streamed  in  on  all  sides,  and  a  dusty  beam  fell 
directly  across  the  eyes  of  the  bronze  statue,  which, 
but  three  days  before,  had  been  a  rollicking  boy. 
"Of  death  it  has  been  said  that  nothing  is  more  cer- 
tain than  that  it  will  come,  and  nothing  more  uncer- 
tain than  when  it  will  come."  I  felt  as  if  I  must 
shield  the  dead  face  from  the  prying  beam  which 
sought  out  the  secret  in  the  close-shut  eyes. 

The  booth  was  filled  with  the  women  and  children 
of  the  village  who  had  come  to  mourn  with  those  that 
mourned.  There  was  not  the  slightest  fear  among 
even  the  little  ones  of  the  stretched-out  figure  which 
lay  among  them  so  horribly  motionless  and  still.  As 
their  weird  wailing  filled  the  air,  I  alone  seemed  to 
feel  it  was  a  death  chamber.  His  mother  had  flung 
herself  prone  upon  the  ground,  poor  thing,  and  I 
needed  no  lexicon  to  translate  her  broken  words  and 
wails.  An  old  woman,  probably  his  grandmother, 
groveled  in  the  dust  near  him,  and  would ,  not  raise 
her  face.  Some  of  the  women  worked  as  they  wailed, 
one  of  these  was  grinding  snuff  with  a  wooden  mortar 
and  pestle  which  had  evidently  been  used  for  genera- 
tions, as  both  were  much  worn  and  blackened.  This 
snuff  is  a  disgusting  compound  of  tobacco  which  has 
been  chewed  and  then  dried  and  ground  with  the  nico- 
tine dug  from  pipes.  In  some  parts  of  Alaska,  snuff 
is  made  from  tobacco,  alder  bark,  willow  ashes,  and 
sugar.  At  Holy  Cross  I  saw  a  couple  of  Indians 
carrying  a  number  of  the  fungi  which  we  children 
used  to  call  brackets.  When  I  asked  them  what  they 
were  going  to  do  with  them  they  said,  grind  them 
into  their  snuff.  This  snuff  doesn't  sound  appetizing, 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS       137 

but  it  must  be,  for  men,  women  and  children  use  it. 
The  woman  was  grinding  in  the  mortar.  She  was  not 
beautiful,  but  as  my  dear  mother  used  to  say,  "  Neither 
are  you,  dear.  We  can't  all  be  beautiful,  but  we  can 
all  be  good."  It  is  therefore  to  be  hoped  that  this 
creature  is  as  good  as  she  is  not  beautiful !  By  the 
way,  was  there  ever  a  nation  in  any  time  or  any  clime 
that  knew  not  the  mortar  and  the  pestle?  The  Bible 
says  in  the  days  of  Solomon,  "Though  thou  shouldst 
bray  a  fool  in  a  mortar,  yet  would  not  his  foolishness 
depart  from  him, ' '  and  Solomon  is  as  right  for  the 
nineteenth  century  fool  as  for  the  man  who  incited  his 
remark. 

It  is  the  Indian  custom  to  provide  food  for  all  the 
mourners,  so  that  it  is  not  all  sympathy  that  induces 
a  large  and  steady  attendance.  Father  Ragaru  told 
me  that  an  Indian  requested  him  to  bury  the  body 
right  away,  as  he  could  no  longer  feed  the  people.  He 
had  sat  up  all  night  cooking  slapjacks  for  the  mourn- 
ers. There  are  no  ceremonies  at  the  grave.  The 
rude  coffins  are  laid  atop  the  ground  and  piled  with 
rocks  and  logs  or  lumber.  One  grave  I  saw,  and  it 
was  a  little  one,  had  a  canopy  of  white  drill  over  it, 
fastened  to  four  rude  posts,  which  had  been  labor- 
iously stained  red  with  some  juice.  Poor  mother,  poor 
Indian  mother,  did  you  think  to  shield  your  child  from 
burning  sun  and  pelting  rain  with  that?  to  keep  him 
warm  'mid  ice  and  snows  with  that?  Yet  the  little 
white  canopy  serves  you  well,  for  it  represents  love, 
a  mother's  love,  and  even  a  mightier,  which  has 
wrapped  your  baby  round  about  forevermore. 

The  family  mask  is  usually  nailed  upon  a  post 
above  the  grave,  as  we  cut  the  name  upon  the  marble 
of  our  vaults.  Mr.  Kjellman  told  me  that  down  on 
the  Kuskokwim  the  Indians  stand  above  their  graves 


i38        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

effigies  of  the  departed  carved  from  logs,  life-size  or 
even  larger,  sometimes  with  two  faces,  as  if  one 
looked  upon  this  world  and  one  out  to  the  next,  the 
quiet  sleeper  below  having  tasted  of  both.  The 
Indians  are  spirited  carvers  and  as  these  monuments 
are  colored,  the  effect  is  often  startling  indeed. 
Some  of  them  bear  threatening  spears,  some  wear 
fearful  masks,  and  to  come  suddenly  upon  a  lonely 
graveyard  guarded  by  these  hideous  things  is  enough 
to  make  the  stoutest  heart  leap  and  to  hurry  the 
steps  of  the  least  superstitious.  As  for  me  and  my 
nerves,  we  should  shriek  with  terror. 

The  Indians  bury  with  the  corpse,  or  place  upon  the 
grave,  all  belongings  of  the  deceased.  I  have  often 
looked  curiously  upon  the  motley  and  pitiful  objects, 
rusty  kettles,  wooden  dishes,  braided  baskets,  knives, 
even  the  beloved  shotgun,  than  which  no  Indian  can 
conceive  anything  more  to  be  desired.  One  day  I  saw 
upon  a  lonely  mountain-side  a  grave  above  which 
stood  a  high  pole  with  a  rifle  nailed  to  it  and  my 
heart  warmed  toward  the  "barbarians"  who  had  made 
that  sacrifice  to  their  dead.  Go  to  Greenwood,  over  what 
tomb  can  you  find  a  woman's  diamond  necklace  hanging? 
upon  which,  the  mortgages  held  by  a  man?  And  if  these 
things  were  buried  with  them,  how  long,  think  you, 
would  their  valuables  remain  with  the  dead,  the 
powerless  dead?  Near  Nulato,  I  saw  a  grave  alone 
by  the  river  upon  the  mountain-side  over  which  shone, 
I  choose  the  word,  a  bright  red  blanket.  How  grate- 
ful it  would  have  been  to  those  left  in  this  world's  cold! 
But  the  blanket  was  his  and  he  would  need  it  upon  his 
long,  solitary  journey.  What  Indian  would  rob  the 
dead?  It  is  notable  that  when  anything  ever  is 
removed  from  a  grave,  it  is  by  a  white  or  at  his  insti- 
gation, though  he  would  be  apt  to  suffer  if  it  were 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS        139 

known.  A  man  who  has  lived  long  in  Alaska  told  me 
that  even  an  "enlightened"  Indian  would  not  dare  to 
actually  steal  from  a  grave,  but  will  sometimes 
* 'trade."  In  such  a  case  he  always  speaks  aloud  that 
the  spirit  may  hear.  "Take  this  rifle,  this  just  as  good 
for  you, ' '  and  he  will  lay  an  old  one  upon  the  grave 
and  take  the  better  one.  This  man  was  very  desirous 
of  a  very  ancient  and  beautiful  ivory  knife  that  lay 
upon  an  Eskimo  grave,  so  he  gave  a  big  butcher- 
knife,  much  more  valuable  in  their  estimation,  to  a 
native,  and  requested  him  to  conduct  negotiations 
with  the  deceased.  In  a  few  minutes  the  Eskimo 
returned.  "Well,  did  you  make  the  deal?"  was  the 
irreverent  question.  "Yes,  got  ivory  knife,  but  no 
give  iron  knife.  He  need  not  sharp  knife.  Give  him 
some  stones.  He  say  nothing."  Well,  I  think  I'd 
have  said  something,  if  I  had  been  dead,  at  such  a 
bare-faced  imposition  as  that.  Speaking  of  Eskimo 
reminds  me  of  the  funniest  thing  I  ever  heard  in  con- 
nection with  the  solemn  subject  of  death.  Dr.  Briggs 
is  stationed  at  Point  Hope,  and  is  much  respected  by 
the  natives.  He  attended  one,  a  man,  and  left  some 
medicine  for  his  use.  He  heard  no  more  of  it,  and 
while  walking  some  weeks  after,  he  met  the  funeral 
procession  of  the  Eskimo.  His  widow  had  it  linger 
till  she  had  thanked  the  doctor  for  his  kindness.  She 
asserted  that  the  medicine  had  relieved  her  husband 
wonderfully,  in  proof  of  which  she  showed  the  corpse 
with  the  bottle,  as  a  mark  of  gratitude,  in  his  stiffened 
hand.  I  don't  know  Dr.  Briggs,  but  I  should  much 
like  to  make  his  acquaintance,  if  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  inquire  of  him  how  the  humor  of  that  occasion 
struck  him.  Dr.  Briggs  had  another  innocently  iron- 
ical remark  made  to  him  one  day.  He  had  given  an 
Eskimo  some  powders  four  months  before,  and  hap- 


i4o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

pening  to  meet  the  man,  he  asked  him  if  they  had 
cured  him.  Oh  yes,  indeed  they  had,  and  the  pain 
had  not  returned.  "Very  good  powders,  me  not  lost 
them,"  and  in  proof  of  his  care  he  showed  the  treasured 
powders,  not  one  missing,  to  the  doctor.  Here  we 
have  a  similar  to  the  historic  case  of  pins  saving  a  life 
by  not  swallowing  them,  a  corroboration,  as  it  were. 
Would  that  these  negative  examples  might  be  more 
generally  followed.  But  setting  the  effects  of  "before 
taking"  and  "after  taking"  Dr.  Briggs'  medicine  over 
against  each  other,  as  in  these  two  cases  related,  is  it 
not  a  practical  joke  on  a  really  good  physician? 

Do  the  Alaskan  Indians  really  mourn  their  dead?  I 
have  heard  it  affirmed  and  denied  with  equal  insist- 
ence by  people  who  have  lived  long  among  them. 
Some  say  that  they  are  very  fond  of  one  another 
living,  but  that  death  ends  all,  that  as  soon  as  the  body 
is  put  away,  so  is  memory,  and  that  the  wailing  is  per- 
functory. Near  Holy  Cross  a  baby  was  buried  above 
ground,  but  covered  only  by  birchbark  instead  of  logs, 
and  the  voracious  dogs  ate  the  little  body  as,  surely, 
the  mother  must  have  known  they  would.  And  yet, 
recalling  their  kindness  to  their  children  and  love  for 
them  living,  I  cannot  think  they  are  not  really 
mourned.  Mr.  Kjellman  told  me  that  at  Port  Clarence 
he  knew  an  Eskimo  and  his  wife  who  visited  their 
little  child's  grave  every  day,  but  that  is  evidently  an 
exception  upon  the  other  side. 

An  Indian  widow  cuts  off  her  hair  and  must  wail  a 
certain  time  every  day  for  a  year,  during  which  twelve- 
month she  may  not  marry  again.  I  have  several  times 
seen  a  widow  doing  up  her  daily  wailing  as  she  would 
her  hair,  or  rather  as  we  would.  Still,  that's  no  more 
ludicrous  than  to  see  the  careful  changes  rung  on  the 
mourning  of  many  a  widow  you  and  I  know,  mourn- 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS       141 

ing  taken  out  in  crepe,  and  shaded  with  nicety  from 
heavy  black  to  lighter,  then  through  lavender  into 
white,  by  almost  imperceptible  advances  which  require 
real  thought.  The  American's  year  is  now  ended  and 
she  bursts  into  bloom.  Yes,  human  nature  is  much 
the  same  the  wide  world  over. 

Among  the  Indians  still  addicted  to  their  peculiar 
customs,  when  sickness  comes  the  diseased  are  first 
treated  by  the  women,  who  have  considerable  knowl- 
edge of  herbs ;  but  if  these  do  not  cure,  the  Shaman 
is  called  in.  And  then  it  would  appear  to  be  a  forlorn 
hope,  for  it's  much  like  calling  the  priest  to  administer 
extreme  unction.  The  patient  feels  he's  expected  to 
die,  and  in  common  decency  he  ought  to.  Besides,  the 
Shamans  make  such  an  unearthly  din  exorcising  the 
evil  spirits  and  invoking  the  good  ones,  that  the 
exhausted  sufferer  gladly  flies  the  scene.  The  Shaman 
sometimes  wears  a  hideous  mask  and  carries  a  fantas- 
tic rattle.  But  dear  me,  we  have  only  to  go  back  to 
the  sixteenth  century  to  find  that  our  ancestors  were 
just  as  ridiculous.  Read: 

"A  leather  mask  covering  the  head  and  neck  and 
simulating  a  bird's  head  with  its  round  eye  and  long 
beak,  the  eye  of  crystal,  the  beak  a  long  nose  filled  with 
odoriferous  substance,  the  mask  tipped  with  a  hat  like 
an  ecclesiastic's  and  continuing  down  to  the  level  of 
the  shoulders,  a  child's  dress  falling  to  the  ankles, 
the  hands  lost  to  view  in  enormous  gloves ;  in  the  right 
hand  a  long  rod ;  the  mask,  the  robe  and  the  gloves 
are  of  Levant  morocco — in  such  a  rig  as  this  our 
fathers  were  accustomed  to  visit  pest-houses." 

When  it  is  plain  that  the  sufferer  must  die,  he  is 
carried  without  the  house,  as  his  death  within  it  would 
bring  ill-luck  upon  both  house  and  surviving  occu- 
pants. There,  under  the  open  sky,  no  matter  how 
bitter  the  weather,  he  breathes  back  to  God  the  breath 


i42        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

with  which  he  was  made  a  living  spirit.  Several  years 
ago,  a  man  I  knew  went  to  Kokrine's,  800  miles  up  the 
Yukon.  The  thermometer  registered  60°  below  zero 
and  a  searching  wind  blew.  He  saw  some  Indians 
carrying  an  old  woman  on  a  board  from  a  house  and, 
being  then  new  to  the  country,  supposed  she  was  dead ; 
but  as  they  passed  him,  the  poor  thing  turned  up  her 
eyes,  suffering,  but  not  protesting.  She  herself  had 
carried  out  the  dying  to  expire  alone,  now  her  time 
was  come.  When  she  turned  her  patient  eyes  upon 
the  stranger  he  stopped  the  bearers  and  insisted  that 
she  be  taken  under  cover.  They  protested,  but  he 
compelled  them.  He  found  the  woman  was  simply 
starving,  and  fed  her  wisely  till  the  poor  thing  rallied 
her  Indian  strength,  and  in  a  week  was  well.  The 
man  went  further  down  the  river  and  shortly  returned 
to  find  the  woman  lying,  frozen  stiff,  upon  a  cache.  It 
seems  that  after  his  departure  the  Indians  visited  their 
rabbit  snares  for  three  or  four  days  consecutively  and 
found  nothing  in  them.  It  was  plain  that  the  woman 
was  a  witch.  She  had  recovered  when  by  rights  she 
should  have  died,  and  now  she  was  in  some  occult  manner 
eating  the  village's  rabbits,  hide,  hair,  and  bones.  So 
they  took  the  poor  thing,  the  feeble  old  witch  whose 
enchantments  were  no  protection  to  her,  laid  her  upon 
a  cache  and  told  her  to  die.  The  cold  showed  the  pity 
her  kinsmen  did  not,  and  extinguished  the  life-fire 
which  required  too  much  fuel  from  the  tribe's  scanty 
store. 

It  is  hard  to  connect  such  cruel  things  with  the 
Yukon  Indians,  for  the  Tinnehs  are  kind  and  affec- 
tionate toward  one  another,  readily  share  their  food 
with  friend  or  stranger,  very  seldom  quarrel  and  never 
fight  except  when  mad  with  quass,  not  often  then ;  and 
a  vindictive  spirit  is  almost  unknown  among  them. 


MOURNERS  AT   ANVIK. 


ANVIK  AND  INDIAN  DEATH  CUSTOMS       143 

In  their  justification  be  it  said  that  these  are  ancient 
tribal  customs;  that  they  are  a  grossly  superstitious 
people ;  that  their  frequent  lack  of  food  necessitates  a 
survival  of  the  fittest ;  that  they  have  not  the  slightest 
fear  of  death,  accepting  it,  as  we  all  should,  as  a  nat- 
ural occurrence,  natural  as  being  born.  They  have 
very  little  idea  of  the  future,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
very  little  interest  in  it.  They  follow  the  instruction 
of  the  poet: 

"Worry  not  over  the  future,  present  is  all  thou  hast, 
For  the  future  will  soon  be  present,  and  the  present  will 
soon  be  past." 

It  was  at  Kokrine's,  too,  that  a  dreadful  thing  was 
done  about  ten  years  ago.  A  man  died,  as  was  sup- 
posed, and  was  buried  in  a  shallow  grave.  It  proved 
to  be  only  a  trance.  He  wakened  at  night,  and,  being 
big  and  strong,  threw  the  clods  from  him  and  returned 
to  his  home.  But  the  villagers  were  angry,  probably 
considering  there  was  something  uncanny,  if  not  devil- 
ish, about  the  affair.  "You  are  dead,"  said  they 
indignantly,  "you  know  you  are.  How  dare  you  come 
back  after  you  have  been  properly  buried?  You  come 
back  and  stay  dead."  And  they  dragged  the  man 
to  his  empty  grave,  fastened  him  down  with  stakes, 
covered  him  a  second  time  with  earth,  and  left  him 
to  suffocate.  Yet  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  judge  these 
ignorant  Indians.  Just  as  dreadful  things  happen  daily 
and  nightly  in  our  great  cities,  and  not  long  ago,  people 
were  immured  alive  in  the  very  name  of  the  God  of 
love  and  mercy.  Who  will  be  judge?  The  best  of  us 
may  not  even  dare  to  sit  upon  the  jury. 


CHAPTER  X 

NULATO,   648    MILES    FROM    ST.   MICHAEL 

It  is  so  peaceful  now,  not  to  say  dead,  that  a  massacre 
is  the  last  thing  one  would  connect  with  the  sleepy 
little  Indian  village  and  the  good-natured,  child-like 
inhabitants.  Yet  forty  years  ago,  for  Nulato  is  ancient 
as  Alaskan  settlements  go,  all  the  whites  were 
murdered  here,  among  them  Barnard,  an  English- 
man, who  had  come  over  from  the  Mackenzie  River 
and  was  wintering  at  Nulato.  He  was  one  of  the 
relief  party  sent  out  to  discover  the  survivors  of  the 
ill-fated  Sir  John  Franklin  expedition.  It  had  been 
reported  that  Barnard  left  a  half-breed  child  at  Nulato, 
and  his  family  in  England  wished  the  matter  inquired 
into  that  she  might  be  cared  for,  were  it  true.  Mr. 
Ogilvie,  when  at  Nulato  with  us,  found  that  it  was 
impossible  the  woman  who  had  passed  as  Barnard's 
daughter  could  be  his,  and  so  reported  to  the  family  in 
England. 

For  many  years  Nulato  has  been  a  notable  trading 
post.  Every  year  the  natives  along  the  Arctic  ocean 
come  down  the  Kowak  and  the  Koyukuk  rivers  bring- 
ing northern  products  to  barter  with  the  Yukon  Indi- 
ans. A  high  bluff  rises  at  one  side  of  the  little  creek 
and  at  its  foot  the  mud  shelves  down  to  the  water  like 
slate.  It  must  have  quicksand  in  it,  for  I  sank  at  once 
in  the  firm  looking  place  to  the  tops  of  my  shoes,  and 
should  be  sticking  there  still  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
very  man  I  had  been  laughing  at  not  long  before. 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     145 

He  burned  my  front  hair  short  with  his  coals  of  fire. 
It  happened  this  way.  The  young  Nova  Scotian 
thought  he'd  try  canoeing,  and  one  of  the  Indians 
grinningly  loaned  his  tippy  craft.  The  result  was 
what  we  all  expected,  only  quicker,  and  everybody 
laughed  immoderately  when  he  splashed  about  in  .the 
water.  But  why  should  he  go  down  and  come  up  so 
queerly?  It  never  occurred  to  anybody  that  a  man 
who  could  not  swim  would  have  been  so  foolhardy  as 
to  essay  a  birchbark  canoe.  An  Indian  noticed  his 
struggles,  held  out  a  paddle  and  pulled  him  ashore,  all 
but  drowned  before  our  laughing  eyes.  He  was  the 
most  mortified  man  I  ever  saw.  "I  can't  imagine  how 
it  happened,"  he  said  to  me,  "why,  when  nothing  but 
a  boy,  I  carried  dispatches  for  the  Canadian  govern- 
ment in  dug-outs  on  the  Saskatchewan,  during  the 
Riel  Rebellion,  and  everybody  knows  that  dug-outs 
are  as  much  harder  to  manage  than  canoes — ' '  and  he 
paused  in  disgust.  I  was  never  in  a  dug-out  in  my  life, 
but  I  sagely  assured  him  that  anybody  who  could  keep 
in  one  long  enough  to  seize  his  paddle  would  be  justi- 
fied in  considering  a  birchbark  canoe  as  tame  as  a  sand 
scow  on  a  canal.  I  finally  succeeded  in  righting  my- 
self and  making  him  feel  better,  but  to  think  it  must 
be  he  who  was  to  save  me  from  a  muddy  grave !  How- 
ever, I  too  had  made  myself  ridiculous,  and  he  was 
comforted.  It  is  a  remarkable  thing,  by  the  way, 
that  none  of  these  Northern  Indians  can  swim,  unless 
they  have  been  taught  by  whites,  although  they  all  but 
live  upon  the  water.  One  who  fell  from  our  boat  was 
drowned. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  little  creek,  Nulato  has 
straggled  up  the  bank,  and  sits  exhausted.  The  Indi- 
ans are  the  homeliest  in  the  whole  region.  One  of  them, 
either  boy  or  man,  was  a  genuine  gnome,  and  would 


1 46        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

have  been  seized  upon  by  Kiralfy  as  a  leading  attrac- 
tion. The  creature  was  a  terribly  deformed,  mis- 
shapen dwarf,  but  had  not  an  unhappy  face,  for,  unlike 
most  barbarians,  the  Tinnehs  are  very  kind  to  those  so 
afflicted,  and  seem  to  regard  them  in  the  light  of  mas- 
cots instead  of  hoodoos.  A  miner  told  me  of  a 
freak,  a  perfect  monster,  which  was  born  up  the  Tan- 
ana,  and  lived  for  several  years.  The  people  there 
were  very  poor,  but  nothing  was  denied  the  awful 
idiot,  whose  barking  voice  really  ruled  the  settlement. 
The  miner  often  tried  to  persuade  its  mother  to  bring 
her  dreadful  progeny  to  the  States  to  exhibit,  and 
explained  how  very  rich  she  and  all  her  people  would 
become,  but  she  would  not  even  hear  of  it.  The  thing 
died  about  three  years  ago. 

This  is  Half-Past-Leven,  a  partial  paralytic,  who  will 
never  grow  any  bigger,  poor  boy.  I  should  like  to  see 
his  face  should  my  picture  reach  him.  I  bought  the 
showiest  frame  I  could  find  to  enclose  it.  He  will  be 
the  envied  of  his  tribe.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the 
little  cripple  had  probably  never  looked  into  a  glass, 
and  would  not  recognize  his  own  cheery  face,  so  I  sent 
with  the  picture  a  pocket  mirror.  Half-Past-Leven  was 
named  by  Captain  Barr,  who  spent  his  first  winter  in 
Alaska  under  a  bluff  near  here,  frozen  into  the  Yukon 
behind  a  dam  he  built  to  protect  the  boat.  Dinner 
was  served  at  12  o'clock;  the  little  cripple  soon  dis- 
covered that.  Thereafter,  at  half -past  eleven  to  the 
minute,  as  if  he  limped  by  clockwork,  he  came  aboard. 
You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  at  Nulato  I  met 
Mrs.  Langtry,  Mary  Anderson,  Mrs.  James  Brown 
Potter,  and  other  famous  beauties.  The  ladies  were 
notable  as  contrasts  rather  than  resemblances  to  the 
celebrities  whose  names  they  bore. 

The  village  women  were  wailing  beside  the  body  of 


1 


LITTLE    "HALF-P.VS1 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     147 

a  pilot's  wife.  The  rude  pine  coffin,  covered  with  red 
and  white  striped  drill,  lay  upon  the  ground  in  a  booth 
just  outside  the  house.  Upon  the  gaudy  pall  stood  the 
dead  woman's  belongings,  showing  her  to  have  been, 
judged  by  native  standards,  a  rich  woman.  These  were 
a  common  cup  and  saucer,  one  metal  spoon,  some 
cheesecloth,  a  tin  dish  and  a  can  of  condensed  milk. 
Her  husband,  further  to  impress  the  envious  mourn- 
ers, had  also  laid  upon  the  coffin  an  adz,  a  large  augur, 
some  bits  of  board  surmounted  by  a  saw,  and  an 
accordion.  I  was  accustomed  to  broken  columns  of 
flowers,  sickles,  lyres.  These,  though  less  beautiful, 
expressed  the  same  ideas,  work  and  music  ended,  no 
more  hunger  and  thirst,  nor  need  of  apparel.  At  the 
end  of  the  coffin  stood  a  little  shrine  made  of  wood 
covered  with  red  flannel  and  draped  with  mos- 
quito net.  It  had  evidently  been  fashioned  after  one 
in  the  Catholic  chapel.  Nothing  stood  within,  yet  if 
God  takes  pleasure  in  graven  images  He  could  imagine 
one  enshrined  within  the  little  niche  made  with  so 
much  care.  And  this  woman,  this  Indian,  was  a  lowly 
part  of  the  universal  motherhood  expressed  by  Mary, 
and  her  dusky  baby  in  the  primitive  hammock  over 
there,  as  beloved  of  the  Christ-child  as  any  golden- 
haired,  lily-faced  darling  of  fortune. 

Near  the  shrine  stood  the  wonder  of  the  hamlet,  a 
small  cheap  clock.  There  was  something  awful  in  its 
persistent  ticking  just  over  the  heart  whose  regular 
beats  had  forever  ceased.  Silently  the  clock's  hands 
pointed  to  the  hours  which  remained  to  us,  the  quick, 
while  the  dead,  with  her  motionless  hands  folded  idly 
forevermore,  had  finished  her  hours,  and  had  already 
forgotten  that  slight  incident  of  eternity,  Time.  The 
human  tongue  had  spoken  its  last  word,  but  the  clock's 
swung  and  sung: 


148        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Yet  time  for  you,  Eternity  for  her,  tick,  tick; 

See  Time  fly  from  you,  Eternity  draw  nigh  to  you ; 

Tick,  tick,  five  minutes  nigher  now,  tick-tick ; 

You've  spent  Time  by  a  half -hour  since  you  came,  tick,  tick, 

Eternity's  gained  on  you  half  an  hour,  tick,  tick. 

Would  nothing  hush  that  dreadful  clock?  I  looked 
around  upon  the  stolid  faces  of  the  mourners;  no 
message  for  them  in  that  monotonous  warning,  but  one 
to  me,  one  to  me. 

Just  beside  the  coffin,  quite  regardless  of  the  glories 
of  her  bright  plaid  shawl  and  new  print  apron,  one  of 
the  women  had  flung  herself  in  very  real  grief.  I  felt 
shaken  and  intrusive,  and  placing  upon  the  coffin  a 
cheap  little  gold-banded  mug  I  had  brought  to  give  to 
some  child,  I  hastily  left  the  booth.  It  was  stood 
beside  the  empty  shrine,  a  curious  resting  place  for  a 
toy  I  had  thoughtlessly  bought  thousands  of  miles  away. 

Think  of  living  and  dying  in  Nulato,  knowing  only 
such  squalid  homes  as  these!  I  tried  to  "take"  two  of 
the  inhabitants  beside  their  den,  but  you'd  have 
thought  it  the  Devil  to  take  them.  They  rushed 
inside,  flung  themselves  in  terror  upon  the  ground, 
and  fairly  burrowed  their  faces  in  the  greasy  dust. 

One  was  not  afraid,  having  been  at  a  mission  school, 
as  seen  by  her  attire.  I  was  really  taking  the  house, 
which  is  one  of  the  mansions  of  Nulato.  You  can 
imagine  what  the  hovels  would  be. 

The  girl  appeared  to  be  holding  her  nose,  but  it  must 
have  been  a  trick  of  the  camera,  for  that  a  Yukon  Indian 
could  be  driven  to  such  an  extreme  by  any  smell  extant 
is  inconceivable ;  the  foulest  would  be  accepted  quite  as 
a  matter  of  course.  A  breath  from  the  worst  of 
slums  in  the  States  would  greet  their  olfactories  like 
a  whiff  of  violets,  while  they  would  use  iodoform  for 
sachet  powder,  did  they  understand  perfumes. 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     149 

Yet  of  one  who  was  born  at  Nulato  nobody  on  the 
Yukon  speaks  aught  but  praise.  She  was  the  child  of 
a  full-blooded  squaw  and  a  white  father,  and  she 
married  a  white  trader.  She  is  a  fine-looking  woman, 
a  thorough  lady  in  manners,  possessing  a  quick  intel- 
ligence, well  trained.  She  is  greatly  interested  in  the 
strange  folklore  of  her  country,  and  has  collected  a 
fund  of  information  most  valuable  to  the  ethnologist 
and  anthropologist.  It  was  she  who  told  this  story 
of  a  barbarian  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  vouches  for 
its  truth,  though  she  herself  does  not  understand  why 
the  woman  did  not  elope  instead.  Perhaps  even  a 
squaw  possesses  her  own  ideas  of  romance.  When  the 
story-teller  was  a  little  girl  at  Nulato,  an  Indian  woman 
fell  sick  there.  Heartsickness  was  the  prime  ailment. 
She  loved  her  husband's  brother  and  her  passion  was 
returned.  Many  Indians  possess  the  power  of  throw- 
ing themselves  into  a  sort  of  catalyptic  state,  or  at  any 
rate  of  feigning  death  for  hours,  so  perfectly  that  the 
deception  cannot  be  detected  by  the  unskilled.  The 
guilty  wife  and  her  lover  decided  that  she  should  die — 
to  the  village — and  take  advantage  of  the  tribal  super- 
stition which  forbade  anyone's  visiting  a  grave  or  put- 
ting foot  within  a  prescribed  distance  in  all  directions 
from  the  corpse.  At  that  time  the  dead  were  not  bur- 
ied, simply  laid  in  rough  boxes  which  admitted  air,  and 
placed  atop  the  ground,  covered  only  with  leaves.  So 
this  Indian  Juliet  closed  the  dark  eyes  which  had 
striven  to  betray  her  secret,  heard  the  preparations  for 
her  own  burial,  listened  to  the  wailing  of  the  mourners 
which  drowned  what  seemed  to  her  the  audible  beating 
of  her  tempestuous  heart,  and  assumed  the  peace  which 
had  deserted  her.  She  was  borne  without  the  camp 
and  left  to  her  death-loneliness,  so  her  people  thought 
Now  began  the  curious  absences  of  her  husband's  dis- 


iso        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

loyal  brother.  When  questioned  he  would  reply 
that  he  went  hunting,  or  make  other  excuses  which  at 
last  aroused  the  suspicion  of  the  husband,  who  one 
night  followed  him.  As  the  betrayed  approached  the 
vicinity  of  the  lonely  grave  he  heard  a  song,  and  shook 
with  fright,  for  the  voice  was  that  of  his  wife.  He 
would  have  rushed  to  the  grave  but  dared  not  step 
within  the  deadline.  Then  he  saw  the  faithless  woman. 
Yes,  it  was  she,  no  restless  wraith  whose  death-house 
might  not  be  visited.  He  rushed  toward  the  cowering 
creature  and  buried  his  knife  in  the  heart  that  had 
mocked  him.  Without  a  word  she  fell  across  her 
cozened  coffin,  and  slowly  sank  into  it,  her  life-blood 
redyeing  the  rude  box  whose  funeral  red  had  faded 
under  the  rains.  Her  glazing  eyes  turned  upon  the 
narrow  house,  narrow  even  for  an  Indian,  and  closed 
upon  its  mockery.  "Ha,"  gibed  the  coffin,  "you 
thought  to  cheat  me  as  you  did  your  husband,  did  you? 
You  fled  his  bed  and  thought  to  desert  mine.  Fool, 
fool !  But  a  moment  ago  your  song  broke  the  stillness 
which  should  reign  around  me,  but  your  blood  flows 
noiselessly  enough.  Ay,  you'll  gad  no  more.  This 
coffin  was  built  for  you  after  all,  and  your  lover  will 
know  it  soon."  So  the  wretched  woman  heard  no  love 
words  that  night,  only  the  hiss  of  her  husband's  hot  rage 
as  it  struck  her  cold  horror,  only  the  jeers  of  the  coffin 
she  had  scorned.  Poor  thing,  she  paid  for  her  heart, 
with  her  heart,  and  wiped  off  the  score  with  her  blood. 
This  power  of  becoming  seemingly  unconscious  is 
an  exasperating  trick  of  Tinneh  Indians.  If  one  feels 
himself  abused  or  offended  or  insulted,  he  is  apt  to 
"go  into  a  fit. "  One  of  the  traders  has  an  Indian  wife 
who  employed  this  novel  retaliation  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  vex  her.  He  stood  it  for  some  time,  but  one 
day  when  a  miner  rushed  into  the  store  and  reported 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL    151 

that  Kate  was  dying,  he  grimly  said  that  he'd  revive 
her,  and  doused  an  entire  bucket  of  cold  water  into 
her  face.  She  has  never  had  an  attack  since,  for  he 
informed  her  then  that  it  was  the  most  efficacious  thing 
he  had  ever  tried  for  her  peculiar  ailment,  and  that  he 
should  employ  it  in  any  future  attacks  she  might  have. 

The  mingling  of  native's  and  white's  attire  is  odd. 
I  saw  one  young  fellow  whose  waist  measure  was  not 
more  than  thirty-two,  wearing  a  pair  of  overalls  con- 
spicuously marked  forty-six  inches.  He  had  lapped 
them  around  him  till  they  would  have  fitted  a  couple 
of  corkscrews  beautifully,  but  were  rather  bias  and 
hampering  to  straight  legs.  I  suppose  that  size  hap- 
pened to  be  on  top  and  the  trader  told  the  Indian  to 
"take  those  or  git,"  for  the  natives  are  not  indulged  in 
reveries  over  goods.  Money  is  no  medium  of  exchange 
in  Alaska.  It  is  all  barter.  The  Indians  bring  pelts, 
fish,  fresh  and  dried,  berries,  mukluks,  etc.,  and  take 
away  tobacco,  sugar,  drill,  overalls,  caps  and  flour.  As 
there  are  no  bags,  they  carry  sugar,  etc.,  in  their  hats 
or  parkas.  Sometimes  an  Indian  will  buy  a  pair  of 
overalls,  tie  a  leg  at  the  bottom,  dump  in  flour,  tie 
another  knot  and  put  in  tobacco,  and  so  fill  one  leg  or 
both,  surely  a  unique  shopping  bag.  About  Nulato 
they  had  very  well  made  birch  baskets  with  willow 
sewed  around  the  top  to  strengthen  them,  and  gussets 
at  the  side.  I  saw  some  very  nice  hereditary  dishes, 
too.  They  are  of  wood  turned  richly  dark,  and  they 
are  set  with  ivory  or  shell  in  diamonds  around  the  top. 

I  never  think  of  Nulato  without  recalling  a  man  who 
is  that  unhappy  thing,  one  struggling  bravely  with  a 
work  whose  efficacy  he  doubts,  whose  results  he  cannot 
see.  He  is  a  priest  from  the  celebrated  and  ancient 
Scotch  family  of  the  Munros,  who  fought  in  France 
and  settled  there  at  Lyons  and  Paris  long  ago.  He  has 


i52        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

been  in  Alaska  several  years,  but  cannot  speak  a  word 
of  the  difficult  Tinneh  language.  His  confreres  have 
been  removed,  and  when  I  saw  him  he  was  living 
entirely  alone  in  the  log  house  chinked  with  reindeer 
moss,  doing  his  own  work,  cooking  his  own  food,  and 
attending  the  little  vegetable  garden,  as  well  as  carry- 
ing on  his  pastoral  work.  It  was  almost  impossible, 
said  Father  Munro,  to  obtain  help  from  the  Indians 
even  if  they  were  paid  well.  Poor  little  Half-Past- 
Leven  was  his  main  dependence,  a  broken  reed  that, 
surely.  He  looked  forlorn  as  he  sat  in  the  cheerless 
mission  house,  the  sole  white  man  in  Nulato,  scholarly, 
traveled,  but  lonely  and  discouraged.  He  said  that 
the  Indians  there  lacked  affection  and  gratitude,  that 
their  pretended  love  for  one  another  was  hypocrisy, 
that  he  had  gone  to  administer  the  sacrament  to  the 
dying  when  he  was  refused  a  fire  for  the  sufferer  or  the 
least  assistance.  To  be  sure  the  natives  hasten  to  make 
peace  after  quarreling,  but  it  is  only  because  they  so 
dread  gossip,  which  is  rife  among  them.  He  told  me 
of  a  woman  who  had  lately  committed  suicide  because 
her  children  had  announced,  "I  tell  about  you. "  He 
took  us  into  the  primitive  little  chapel.  A  rug  of  bar- 
baric hues  lay  upon  the  clean  floor,  and  beside  the  altar 
hung  an  olive  wood  cross  with  the  fourteen  stations 
marked  by  pearl  discs  and  relics  of  each  place. 
This  had  been  sent  from  far  away  Jerusalem  the 
Golden  to  this  squalid  Indian  village  in  memory  of  the 
One  who  commanded  "Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and 
preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature. "  But  no  wonder 
the  priest  was  discouraged,  almost  dismayed : 

"For  he  that  speaketh  in  an  unknown  tongue  speak- 
eth  not  unto  men  but  unto  God:  for  no  man  under- 
standeth  him."  "For  if  the  trumpet  give  an  uncertain 
sound,  who  shall  prepare  himself  to  the  battle?"  "So 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     153 

likewise  ye,  except  ye  utter  by  the  tongue  words  easy 
to  be  understood,  how  shall  it  be  known  what  is  spoken? 
for  ye  shall  speak  into  the  air"  ....  "therefore  if 
I  know  not  the  meaning  of  the  voice,  I  shall  be  unto 
him  that  speaketh  a  barbarian,  and  he  that  speaketh 
shall  be  a  barbarian  unto  me."  "For  if  I  pray  in  an 
unknown  tongue,  my  spirit  prayeth  but  my  under- 
standing is  unfruitful."  "Else  when  thou  shalt  bless 
with  the  spirit  how  shall  he  that  occupieth  the  room  of 
the  unlearned  say  Amen  at  thy  giving  of  thanks,  seeing 
he  understandeth  not  what  thou  sayest?  For  verily 
thou  givest  thanks  well,  but  the  other  is  not  edified. ' ' 

I  think  that  men  are  men  the  world  over,  and  that 
differences,  no  matter  how  great,  are  generally  but 
externals.  If  you  can  master  a  man's  speech,  can 
think  in  it,  you  will  think  his  thoughts  with  it,  at 
least  to  a  degree.  Frank  Hamilton  Gushing,  who  lived 
among  the  Zunis,  spoke  their  language,  studied  their 
ancient  lore  and  arts,  and  was  admitted  to  their  secret 
societies,  told  me  that  the  way  he  had  learned  to  tie 
and  untie  their  curious  and  intricate  knots  and  to  restore 
ancient  designs,  was  to  sit  perfectly  still,  absorbingly 
contemplating  them.  Then  he  would  trace  them  with 
his  eye,  strive  to  follow  the  thought  of  the  doer,  cen- 
turies dead.  At  last  he  would  find  himself  in  that  doer's 
mood,  his  fingers  would  respond  to  the  "old  idea,  and 
involuntarily  would  move  to  carry  out  that  idea.  It 
is  a  strangely  significant  thought.  Father  Munro 
speaks  English,  even,  with  an  effort,  and  the  Indians 
pick  up  only  that  or  Russian.  How  hard  it  must  be 
to  deny  one's  self  so  much  and  feel  that  the  sacrifice 
meets  so  little  recompense. 

Dr.  Jackson  gave  Father  Munro  some  blanks  to  fill 
for  the  Department  of  Agriculture  at  Washington,  who 
in  this  way  are  compiling  data  which  may  prove  of 
use.  But  our  governmental  methods  in  such  things 


154        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

seem  so  crude  and  so  niggardly.  This  reminds  me  of 
Funston,  a  botanist  sent  from  Washington,  and  a  son 
of  Congressman  Funston  of  Kansas.  He  came  into  the 
Yukon  country,  gathered  specimens  and  took  photo- 
graphs, and  lost  them  all  and  his  outfit  by  the  upset- 
ting of  a  boat.  Discouraged,  he  traveled  a  thousand 
miles,  and  returned  to  the  States  by  the  Bear.  He 
is  now,  they  say,  general  of  artillery  in  heroic  Cuba. 

The  point  I  have  spoken  of  as  the  spot  where  the 
Weare  first  wintered  has  been  named  Kennicott 
Bluff  after  the  distinguished  young  naturalist,  who 
died  at  Nulato  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  His  father, 
John  A. ,  was  a  physician  and  eminent  horticulturalist, 
and  their  beautiful  estate,  "The  Grove,"  just  outside 
Chicago,  was  a  rallying  point  for  scientists  for  years. 
As  a  boy,  Robert  was  very  delicate,  but  the  out-of- 
door  life  his  tastes  fostered  strengthened  him  and 
before  he  was  eighteen  his  attainments  as  a  natural- 
ist attracted  attention.  He  did  work  for  the  Smith- 
sonian at  Washington,  and  at  twenty-one  he  became 
one  of  the  organizers  of  the  Chicago  Academy  of 
Sciences.  From  then  until  his  early  death  he  made 
its  advance  one  of  the  main  objects  of  his  life.  He 
was  successful  in  his  profession  from  the  start,  and  it 
was  in  '59  that  he  undertook  his  first  Arctic  expedition 
to  obtain  eggs  of  the  many  species  of  birds,  especially 
water  birds,  breeding  in  the  North,  to  study  the  zo- 
ology of  that  almost  unknown  region,  and  its  geology. 
So,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Smithsonian,  the  Audu- 
bon  Society  of  Chicago,  and  private  parties,  funds 
were  provided  for  three  years.  The  funds  were 
devoted  entirely  to  the  expenses  of  collecting,  etc., 
Kennicott  accepted  nothing  for  himself.  The  Hud- 
son Bay  Company  and  Sir  George  Simpson,  governor, 
assisted  him  in  every  way,  and  Kennicott  pushed  for- 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     155 

ward,  up  the  Saskatchewan,  down  the  Mackenzie  to 
Peel's  River,  down  the  Porcupine  to  Fort  Yukon.  He 
bore  every  hardship  cheerily,  struck  camp  at  ten  o'clock 
at  night  and  started  at  two  in  the  morning,  pushed 
through  swamps,  "losing  pounds  of  blood  to  the  mos- 
quitoes," and  endured  terrific  cold.  This  "delicate" 
man  writes  in  his  interesting  journal,  which  was  pub- 
lished among  the  "Transactions  of  the  Chicago  Acad- 
emy of  Sciences": 

"We  had  to  make  a  traverse  of  about  fifty  miles  to 
Fort  Resolution  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake.  We 
made  eight  or  ten  miles  the  same  night  and  slept  on 
the  ice.  A  very  strong  wind  made  our  camp  very 
disagreeable  and  cold,  and,  of  course,  we  had  no  camp 
fire,  but  I  managed  to  erect  a  wall  of  snow,  which 
afforded  us  a  slight  protection  against  the  keen  wind. 
The  next  day  we  walked  about  fourteen  hours,  exclu- 
sive of  stoppages,  making,  I  should  think,  nearly  forty 
miles.  .  .  .  Here  we  got  the  only  water  to  be  had  on 
the  traverse,  and  having  thawed  some  tongues  and 
meat  by  carrying  them  under  the  breasts  of  our  capots, 
made  our  dinner." 

A  delightful  thing  about  his  journal  is  that  one  is 
spared  rhapsodies  over  scenery.  Anent  that  he 
frankly  says : 

"I  am  sorry  I  do  not  appreciate  fine  scenery,  else 
I  would  be  able  to  describe  some  I  see  here  (along  the 
Porcupine).  It  inspires  me  with  some  elevating  feel- 
ings to  look  upon  these  grand,  rugged  old  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  I  enjoy  it,  yet  still  I  cannot  remem- 
ber the  details  of  any  scene  that  pleases  me." 

Kennicott  spent  his  first  Alaskan  winter  with  Lock- 
hart  at  Fort  Yukon,  and  upon  leaving  gave  his  scien- 
tific books  to  Lockhart,  whom  he  had  thoroughly 
44 enthused"  over  zoology.  Kennicott  was  only  twenty- 
four,  jolly,  hard-working.  ;ood  company,  but  he  seems 
to  have  inspired  everyone  about  him  with  much  of  the 
absorbing  love  for  science  which  was  the  mainspring  of 


156        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

his  own  life.  This  trait  was  remarked  upon  by  R.  J. 
Mendenhall  of  Minneapolas,  who  "hunted  bugs"  with 
Kennicott  along  the  Great  River  of  the  North  in  1857. 
Mr.  Mendenhall  said  no  one  could  be  associated  with 
him  for  a  week  without  feeling  that  enthusiasm  for 
scientific  knowledge.  At  Fort  Yukon,  Kennicott 
gained  quite  a  reputation  among  the  Indians  as  a 
medicine  man,  and  effected  two  cures  upon  natives 
supposed  to  be  dying,  by  administering  doses  of  tooth- 
powder. 

Among  the  birds  Kennicott  noted  about  Nulato,  was 
the  pigeon-hawk,  much  prized  by  the  Indians,  and 
worth  a  marten  skin  to  them.  They  used  the  feath- 
ers for  ornament,  also  for  the  shafts  of  their  arrows. 
Arrows  are  little  used  in  the  Yukon  valley  now.  This 
pigeon-hawk  has  a  curious  habit  of  occupying  the  same 
nest  year  after  year,  and  it  isn't  a  fine  home  either, 
being  loosely  built  of  sticks  and  a  little  straw,  upon  the 
top  of  a  high  tree.  Then  there  is  the  gray  owl,  which 
the  Indians  call  the  "heavy  walker,"  it  is  so  clumsy. 
This  is  prized  as  a  delicacy  by  the  old,  but  if  a  young 
person  should  eat  of  it  he  would  soon  age  and  die  early. 
Of  the  hawk  owl  found  at  Nulato,  Kennicott  says: 
"I  invariably  found  many  tape- worms  in  the  intes- 
tines of  this  bird ;  afterward,  I  discovered  in  the  mouse, 
which  is  the  usual  food  of  these  owls,  the  hydadid  from 
which  these  parasites  were  developed. ' '  He  also  found 
here  the  Three-toed  woodpecker  and  relates  an  odd 
reason  for  the  dislike  the  Indians  feel  toward  the  bird: 
Many  years  ago,  in  time  of  famine,  this  woodpecker 
devoured  his  mate  and  wiped  his  claws  on  the  back  of 
his  head ;  in  proof  of  which,  they  point  to  the  yellow 
mark  of  the  "fat,"  which  -remains  to  this  day.  The 
ruffled  grouse  is  not  uncommon  in  the  vicinity  of 
Nulato.  It  feeds  exclusively  upon  spruce  buds  so 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL     157 

that  its  flesh  is  aromatic  with  their  flavor.  When  aimed 
at,  it  does  not  fly,  but  dodges  behind  the  tree  upon 
which  it  is  sitting.  There  are  plenty  of  sandpipers  at 
Nulato,  too,  and  pintail  ducks,  of  which  Kennicott 
says:  "They  fly  more  swiftly  than  any  other  duck,  and 
are  hard  to  hit  on  the  wing.  They  grow  so  fat  that 
they  frequently  cannot  raise  themselves  above  the 
water."  Several  birds  of  Alaska  have  been  named 
from  this  famous  young  naturalist. 

He  made  large  collections  of  eggs  and  skins,  taking 
copious  notes,  and  returned  to  Chicago  when  the  war 
broke  out.  He  was  dissuaded  by  his  family  from 
enlisting,  and  spent  the  winter  of  '62-3  at  the  Smith- 
sonian putting  his  magnificent  collection  in  shape  and 
writing  his  papers  for  its  publications.  The  scope  and 
importance  of  his  Arctic  work  were  now  everywhere 
acknowledged.  His  collections  were  extensive  and  were 
being  constantly  augmented  by  the  many  friends  he 
had  made  among  the  company  officials  through  Arctic 
America.  These  specimens  were  studied  by  specialists, 
and  natural  history  gained  a  world  of  new  facts. 

"It  was  felt  that  that  portion  of  these  valuable  col- 
lections which  justly  belonged  to  our  Arctic  explorer, 
ought  to  come  to  the  city  of  his  home,  in  accordance 
with  his  own  desire  and  that  of  his  friends,  particu- 
larly as  he  had  offered  to  relinquish  his  claim  to  the 
series  to  any  institution  in  the  city  which  would  make 
proper  provision  for  their  reception  and  preservation. 
The  matter  was  taken  in  hand  by  several  prominent 
citizens  of  Chicago,  and  in  a  remarkably  short  space 
of  time  a  fund  was  raised  sufficient  to  comply  with  the 
conditions.  News  of  the  project  reaching  Professor 
Henry,  that  gentleman,  with  his  accustomed  liber- 
ality, offered  to  turn  over  not  only  Mr.  Kennicott 's 
share  of  the  Arctic  collections,  but  a  series  of  all  the 
duplicates  of  the  Smithsonian  Museum,  in  each  depart- 
ment of  natural  history." 


158        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Mr.  Kennicott  was  elected  curator,  then  director 
and  trustee  of  the  academy.  In  1865,  he  was 
sent  to  take  command  of  a  party  destined  to  the  survey 
of  Alaska  and  the  Yukon.  In  all  this  Mr.  George  C. 
Walker  of  Chicago  showed  himself  what  he  always  felt 
proud  to  be,  Robert  Kennicott's  faithful  friend.  They 
were  intimate  till  the  latter's  death. 

Kennicott  reached  Nulato,  but  felt  his  strength  fail- 
ing. The  day  that  he  died  he  rose  early  and  wrote 
full  directions  for  the  conduct  of  the  explorations  "in 
case  of  any  accident  happening  to  me, ' '  then  went  out 
to  walk,  about  four  in  the  morning.  As  he  did  not 
return,  they  went  to  search  for  him.  Something  lay 
upon  the  beach.  Yes,  it  was  he,  peacefully  sleeping 
for  aye,  his  face  calm  and  happy,  his  keen  eyes  half 
closed.  He  had  died,  as  he  wished,  at  work,  for  beside 
him  was  his  compass,  and  in  the  soft  alluvium,  lines 
indicating  the  mountains  within  sight,  showing  that 
when  Death  stayed  the  faithful  hand  he  was  working 
upon  the  map  he  was  preparing  of  the  region  about 
Nulato.  He  gave  his  life  to  Science,  who  demands 
much  and  gives  little,  little  except  love  for  herself 
and  the  broad  and  broadening  thoughts  which  she 
incites.  Of  the  man  himself  she  recks  nothing,  for 
she  knows  that  another  stands  ready  to  take  his  place, 
no  matter  how  unique  the  world  thought  him.  "The 
workman  dies,  but  the  work  goes  on." 

Kennicott  was  greatly  beloved.  His  associates  deter- 
mined to  send  the  body  to  the  home  that  had  been  dear 
to  him.  The  half-breed  'commander  of  the  Russian 
post  tore  down  the  partition  which  separated  his  room 
from  the  common  barracks,  and  gave  the  boards  for 
a  coffin.  This  was  made  double,  and  covered  with 
cloth  pitched  with  gum  from  the  forest  primeval, 
strengthened  with  brass.  The  body  was  taken  to  San 


NULATO,  648  MILES  FROM  ST.  MICHAEL    159 

Francisco  on  the  flagship  Nightingale,  and  at  Nulato 
near  the  spot  where  his  body  was  found  a  cross  was 
erected  and  a  tablet  bearing  this  inscription: 

To  the  Memory 

of 
Robert  Kennicott, 

Naturalist, 

Who  Died  Near  This  Place, 
May  1 3th,  1866, 
Aged  Thirty. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   TANANA,  MINOOK,    AND   THE   RAPIDS 

Above  Nulato  the  mountains  grow  higher,  bold  rocks, 
bright  colored  as  in  Colorado,  and  purplish  ones  cov- 
ered with  lichen,  vary  the  shore.  Sometimes  whole 
mountain  sides  are  ablaze  with  fireweed.  I  supposed 
it  so  called  because  of  its  bright  red  color,  but  instead 
it  springs  up  everywhere  that  fire  has  burned.  It  is 
an  inflammation  of  the  earth,  so  to  speak. 

About  eighty  miles  above  Nulato  we  stopped  at  a 
small  Indian  village,  and  I  took  little  Serene  ashore. 
Most  of  the  population  gathered  around  the  little  thing, 
and  filing  past  her,  slyly  touched  the  fair  silken  curls. 
One  of  the  children  discovered  that  her  eyes  were 
blue.  Evidently  the  idea  was  a  new  one.  The  dusky 
child  glanced  from  one  to  another  of  her  people. 
Beady  black  eyes  looked  back.  She  said  something  in 
Tinneh,  and  all  looked  curiously  into  Serene's  eyes. 
They  duly  admired  the  lace-trimmed  blue  gown,  and 
one  of  them  spied  the  child's  garters.  Seeing  they 
were  curious,  I  showed  them  how  the  clamps  work. 
But  the  dear  little  tot  was,  naturally,  becoming  restive 
under  their  admiring  scrutiny,  and  we  followed  a 
woman  who  beckoned  us.  She  led  us  to  her  house, 
which  was  built  of  birch  poles  only.  Windows  means 
wind-eyes.  This  domicile,  it  is  needless  to  say,  needed 
none.  Strips  of  birch  bark  were  laid  upon  the  roof 
ready  to  be  hung  around  the  airy  house  if  it  rained,  as 
one  puts  on  the  curtains  of  a  carriage.  The  squaw 
ran  into  the  hut,  and  brought  out  a  duckling,  which 
cuddled  tamely  in  her  hand  as  she  showed  it  to  the 

child.      Then  she  invited  us  to  enter.      We  did  so, 

1 60 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS    161 

standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  that  we  might  not 
inadvertently  carry  off  anything  belonging  to  the 
household.  The  woman  got  a  nicked  and  cracked 
saucer,  of  which  she  was  evidently  proud,  and  to  show 
me  how  cleanly  she  was,  carefully  licked  it  all  over 
inside,  first  one  way  then  the  other,  then  filled  it  with 
salmon  berries,  and  with  a  smile  that  needed  no  transla- 
tion offered  it  to  Serene.  The  child  looked  doubtfully 
at  the  gift,  then  at  me.  I  gave  her  a  few  from  the  top 
and  then  informed  the  woman  that  we  must  return  to 
the  boat.  Salmon  berries  reminds  me  of  a  great  kettle 
of  ill-smelling  salmon  heads  this  woman  was  boiling.  I 
suppose  this  dainty  betokened  company  to  dinner. 

Kokrine's  is  a  trading  post  800  miles  up  the  river. 
The  man  himself  has  lived  in  Alaska  for  forty  years. 

I  shall  never  hear  of  the  Tozakakat  river,  which 
empties  its  magnificent  waters  into  the  Yukon,  883 
miles  from  St.  Michael,  without  recalling  the  gaunt 
figure  of  a  starving  man  the  boat  picked  up.  He  was 
an  Irishman,  who  had  started  out  with  a  companion 
and  a  $1,200  outfit  to  prospect.  For  some  reason 
they  parted,  a  very  foolish  thing  to  do  in  that 
country,  where  it  is  most  unwise  for  a  man  to  go 
prospecting  alone.  The  Irishman  had  built  a  boat, 
and  it  upset,  the  rapid  current  carrying  away  every- 
thing but  his  ax  and  gun.  He  lost  his  bearings,  a 
thing  by  no  means  difficult  to  do  in  Alaska,  owing  to 
the  erratic  movements  of  the  summer  sun,  and  walked 
what  he  afterward  found  to  be  300  miles,  keeping 
parallel  with  the  Yukon  he  wished  to  strike,  tormented 
by  mosquitoes,  and  without  sufficient  food.  His  dogs 
were  stung  so  terribly  about  the  eyes  that  they  became 
blind  and  mad,  so  he  was  obliged  to  shoot  them.  His 
boots  gave  out,  and  for  days  he  had  been  tramping 
over  the  mountains  barefooted.  His  feet  were  cut, 


162        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

bleeding  and  stung  till  it  was  agony  to  even  stand 
upon  them.  For  eighteen  days  he  had  suffered  every- 
thing, and  had  lost  thirty-seven  pounds  flesh.  He 
shot  what  he  could,  but  had  no  way  of  cooking  meat. 
He  at  last  struck  the  Tozakakat  river,  and  built  a  raft 
to  float  down  it,  but  the  current  was  swift  and  the 
little  stream  winding,  so  that  he  was  constantly  swung 
against  rocks,  and  the  light  raft  demolished.  In  this 
way  he  lost  three,  but  upon  the  fourth  he  reached 
the  Yukon.  He  then  .left  the  raft,  and  fell  exhausted 
and  starving  upon  the  beach.  His  last  food,  four  days 
before,  had  been  one  grouse,  which  he  ate  raw. 
Before  that  several  days  had  elapsed  without  food  of 
any  kind.  When  the  Indians  found  him  lying  upon 
the  bank  almost  dead,  they  showed  themselves  good 
Samaritans,  though  they  had  never  heard  the  word. 
Although  he  had  the  always-envied  rifle  and  an  ax, 
and  would  have  been  dead  by  neglect  only  in  a  short 
time,  they  brought  him  food  and  tried  to  prevent  his 
eating  too  much,  but  he  told  me  that  he  had  eaten  five 
entire  salmon  in  spite  of  them.  Upon  seeing  how 
weak  he  was,  one  of  the  Indians  ran  all  the  way  to  Ft. 
Adams,  where  Mr.  Prevost,  the  Episcopalian  minister, 
was  routed  out  at  one  o'clock  at  night  to  come  and  see 
what  could  be  done.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prevost,  by  the 
way,  are  greatly  honored,  not  only  by  Indians  but  by 
whites  throughout  all  the  region.  The  missionary 
accompanied  the  Indian,  but  found  that  eleven  years 
of  Alaskan  hardship  had  inured  the  miner  to  exposure 
and  lack  of  food.  He  was  still  too  weak  to  walk,  but 
in  no  danger.  I  could  not  but  recall  Blair's  lines: 

"O  cursed  lust  of  gold!  when  for  thy  sake 
The  fool  throws  up  his  interest  in  both  worlds ; 
First  starved  in  this,  then  damned  in  that  to  come  ." 

The  miner  was  tenderly  tcared  for  by  the  Indians 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS   163 

and  although  he  was  defenseless  and  penniless,  he  was 
put  into  the  bottom  of  a  canoe  with  his  precious  gun 
and  ax  beside  him  and  rapidly  paddled  several  miles  to 
meet  our  boat,  that  he  might  be  taken  back  up  the  river. 
One  of  our  passengers  had  made  the  daily  remark, 
which  I  suppose  he  thought  epigramatic,  that,  "The 
only  thing  you  can  make  of  an  Indian  is  a  good  horse- 
thief. "  As  he  himself  had  wasted  a  good  education 
and  a  generous  patrimony,  drank,  gambled,  and  the 
rest  of  it,  I  privately  thought  he  was  about  the  last 
one  to  criticise  the  low  moral  plane  of  a  poor  dirty 
Indian,  and  should  be  the  last  to  ridicule  those  who 
44 wasted  their  time"  civilizing  the  red  man.  This  man 
listened  to  the  Irishman's  story  with  keen  interest, 
when  he  was  able  to  talk.  I  asked  if  the  Indians  were 
good  to  him.  The  miner  replied  gratefully  and  with 
an  old-fashioned  courtesy,  "Madam,  my  own  family 
couldn't  have  done  more.  I  owe  them  my  life,  and 
they  knew  I  hadn't  an  ounce  of  dust  and  should  prob- 
ably never  see  them  again. ' '  I  turned  to  our  wit,  and 
said  something  about  that's  being  a  little  out  of 
the  horsethief  line.  We  never  heard  the  remark  from 
him  again. 

"I  suppose  you  have  had  enough  of  Alaska  after  this 
experience?"  said  I  to  the  Irishman.  "Why,  no,  madam," 
he  replied  simply;  "it's  all  part  of  the  life.  I  shall  be 
well  in  a  few  days,  then  I  shall  borrow  some  money 
for  an  outfit,  and  start  again. "  Well,  success  to  him! 

Near  Ft.  Adams  is  St.  James  Mission.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Prevost  came  down  for  their  mail;  bright,  both  of 
them,  and  energetic.  Mrs.  Prevost's  mother  was  spend- 
ing the  summer  at  this  forlorn  place,  a  stupendous 
change  from  her  New  York  city  home.  The  mission 
owns  a  tiny  steamer  called  "The  Northern  Light," 
which  puffs  nervously  along  as  if  realizing  how  much 


I 

164        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

missionary  work  needed  immediate  attention  along 
the  Yukon.  Mr.  Prevost  published  the  first  newspaper 
on  the  great  river,  The  Yukon  Press,  an  annual. 
Writing  upon  the  question  of  Alaskan  mail,  Mr.  Pre- 
vost mentions  the  fact  that  both  companies  had  all 
along  carried  mail  of  all  kinds  into  the  country  free, 
yet,  when  the  government  called  for  tenders,  though 
theirs  were  carefully  estimated  but  a  trifle  above  cost 
of  carriage,  the  contract  was  awarded  to  an  English 
syndicate,  whose  bid  was  computed  to  be  over  fifty 
per  cent  below  actual  expenses.  Mr.  Prevost  continues : 

"The  action  of  the  Government  with  regard  to  Can- 
ada's carrying  her  mail  through  thirty  miles  of  Alaskan 
territory,  reminds  one  of  the  old  adage  of  hunting  for 
the  mote  in  our  neighbor's  eye.  What  action  the 
Canadian  Government  will  take  with  regard  to  Uncle 
Sam's  calmly  taking  his  mail  last  summer  through  700 
miles  of  their  territory,  remains  to  be  seen.  This 
recalls  a  suggestion,  which  appeared  in  our  first  issue 
four  years  ago. 

"Should  a  winter  mail  eventually  be  established, 
why  not  have  the  route  entirely  on  Alaskan  soil? 
Why  take  the  present  summer  route,  leading  through 
700  miles  of  our  neighbor's  territory,  when  shorter  and 
less  dangerous  passages  are  to  be  found  within  our 
own  borders?  In  winter  there  are  two  accessible 
routes :  one  by  way  of  Copper  River  or  Prince  William 
Sound,  and  the  other  via  Cook  Inlet.  In  an  air  line 
we  deduce  the  following  distances  from  Circle  City: 
To  Sitka,  328  miles;  to  Kadiak,  mouth  of  Cook  Inlet, 
306  miles;  and  to  Nuchek,  Prince  William  Sound,  189 
miles.  These  distances  might  be  deceiving;  as  for 
instance,  although  the  last  mentioned  is  less  than  two- 
thirds  of  either  of  the  others,  still  it  is  more  circuitous 
and  winding,  and  when  the  actual  traveled  distance 
has  been  calculated,  it  will  be  found  to  be  nearly  800 
miles,  which,  by  the  way,  is  about  100  miles  shorter 
than  the  distance  from  Circle  City  to  Sitka.  We  have 
reason  to  consider,  however,  that  the  shortest  route  of 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS    165 

all,  by  actual  travel,  would  be  from  the  head  waters 
of  Cook  Inlet,  by  way  of  the  river  Sushitna,  and  the 
upper  portion  of  the  Copper  River  to  the  Tanana  and 
across  to  Circle  City.  It  is  now  known  that  the  passes 
from  Copper  River  to  the  Tanana  are  not  easily 
traveled,  but  lack  as  well  the  severe  winds  that  are 
characteristic  of  the  Dyea  Pass  in  winter." 

This  question  of  mail  on  the  Yukon  is  one  that 
demands  immediate  and  careful  attention.  I  offer  no 
suggestion  as  to  the  solution,  but  it  does  seem  hard 
that  when  a  man  has  been  without  mail  for  a  whole 
year,  he  cannot  obtain  his  letters  at  Minook,  for 
instance,  because  they  are  addressed  to  Dawson. 

The  scenery  here  is  beautiful.  "The  Palisades" 
rise  stern  and  rugged,  like  fortresses  erected  by  Na- 
ture to  guard  her  treasures  of  gold.  The  town  of 
Weare,  at  the  confluence  of  the  Tanana  and  the  Yukon, 
897  miles  from  St.  Michael,  bids  fair  to  become  the 
metropolis  of  the  lower  river,  commanding  as  it  does  the 
rich  Tanana  district,  and  being  situated  adjoining  the 
military  reservation  laid  off  last  year  by  Captain  P.  H. 
Ray.  It  is  a  pity,  by  the  way,  that  the  Spanish  troubles 
prevented  Congress  from  taking  much  needed  action 
looking  toward  a  more  efficient  and  less  unwieldly 
government  for  Alaska,  as  recommended  by  the  able 
report  of  Captain  Ray.  This  officer  was  stationed  for 
some  time  in  Alaska,  and  wintered  at  Point  Barrow 
without  losing  a  man.  His  was  the  only  successful 
government  expedition  up  to  that  time.  For  that 
reason  the  War  Department  selected  him  as  especially 
qualified  to  look  into  conditions  arising  from  the  sud- 
den influx  of  miners.  The  President  sent  him  as  a 
special  emissary.  Captain  Ray  prosecuted  his  investi- 
gations without  fear  or  favor,  and  his  recommendations 
merit  active  attention.  It  is  utterly  impossible  to  gov- 
ern that  great  country  like  an  ordinary  territory.  It 


166        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

should  for  the  present,  and  the  immediate  present, 
have  a  military  form  of  government,  and  none  would 
make  a  more  efficient  military  governor  than  this  same 
Captain,  now  Colonel,  P.  H.  Ray,  of  the  Eighth  U.  S. 
Infantry,  for  his  difficult  accomplishment  in  Alaska 
brought  him  merited  promotion  upon  his  return. 
Captain  Ray's  heroic  stand,  with  no  other  aid  than 
Lieutenant  Richardson,  against  hundreds  of  excited 
men  and  many  desperate  characters  when  they  threat- 
ened to  seize  the  food  stores,  shows  of  what  stuff  the 
man  is  made.  He  is  determined,  fearless,  informed 
and  clear-sighted  as  to  present  needs  and  future  con- 
sequences. If  more,  and  more  intelligent  attention  is 
not  given  to  this  great  province,  the  United  States  will 
have  to  fight  for  its  rich  possession  some  day.  Less 
politics  and  more  patriotism  are  what  are  sorely  needed 
at  Washington. 

The  Tanana  (pronounced  Tan'-a-naw)  is  1500  miles 
long,  wide,  shallow,  and  very  rapid.  A  light-draught 
steamer  could  ascend  it  250  miles.  The  ignorance 
shown  by  those  building  boats  for  Alaska  is  laughable. 
A  two  and  a  half  foot  draw  is  safest.  The  portage 
from  the  Tanana  River  to  the  Kuskokwim  is  not  long. 
The  latter  river  is  sluggish,  muddy,  with  shoals  a  long 
distance  from  its  mouth  at  Kuskokwim  Bay  on  Bering 
Sea.  Numberless  creeks  empty  into  the  Kuskokwim,  and 
big  discoveries  will  probably  be  made  in  this  hitherto 
inaccessible  region.  Indians  up  both  this  river  and  the 
Tanana  are  considerably  taller  than  the  Yukon  tribes. 
The  Kuskokwim  is  also  noted  for  fleas ;  and,  remember, 
to  establish  a  distinguishing  reputation  in  any  variety 
of  insects  in  Alaska,  is  to  argue  pre-eminence  indeed. 

I  photographed  a  Kuskokwim  Indian,  one  of  the 
boat's  crew.  He  was  tall,  well  built,  and  wore  what 
had  originally  been  a  white  sweater.  His  head  looked 


^IP^A 


• 


PADEREWSKI. 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS   167 

enormous  tinder  a  tremendous  shock  of  hair.  As  this 
was  never  combed,  the  back  of  his  head  looked  exactly 
like  a  dusty,  half-worn,  tumbled  monkey  muff.  The 
black  locks  fell  upon  his  brow  in  the  fashion  of  a  for- 
eign musician,  and  his  expression  was  so  soulful,  not 
to  say  daft,  that  our  wit  dubbed  him  Paderewski.  He 
could  not  speak  the  language  of  the  other  Indians, 
which  threw  him  upon  his  own  thoughts,  if  he  had  any. 
One  day,  when  we  stopped  for  wood,  there  was  found 
to  be  little.  After  it  was  all  aboard,  the  Kuskokim 
wandered  ashore  and  stood  gazing  about.  "See 
Paderewski,"  said  the  man  who  named  him,  "See 
Paderewski  looking  for  the  lost  c(h)ord. " 

Now  we  have  entered  "The  Ramparts,"  which  have 
gathered  the  river  channels  into  one,  deep  and  mur- 
muring with  rapids.  Fishing  stations  are  here  fre- 
quent, for  the  fish  are  massed,  and  Indians  camp  out 
along  the  river  to  quickly  procure  their  winter '.s 
supply.  The  mountains  grow  higher  and  more  beau- 
tiful. At  last  we  have  reached  Minook,  the  first  post 
for  mines  on  the  Yukon,  1,075  miles  from  St.  Michael, 
and  but  five  or  six  miles  back  from  the  river  over  the 
easiest  trail  to  any  of  the  mining  districts,  which  are 
invariably  back  in  the  gulches.  The  Yukon  long  ago 
bore  its  own  gold  out  to  sea,  and  is  now  engaged  only 
in  transporting  other  people's.  Minook' s  nearness  to 
sea  and  river  is  greatly  in  its  favor,  for  "grub"  will 
always  be  plenty  and  packing  cheap.  When  I  first 
went  up  the  Yukon  there  were  only  a  few  miners 
prospecting  on  the  creeks,  and  no  indication  of  a 
town.  Among  these  were  Drew,  a  mining  engineer 
from  Milwaukee,  later  of  Butte,  Montana,  and  A.  W. 
Briggs  of  New  York,  recently  from  the  Black  Hills. 
The  latter  is  dubbed  the  Yukon  poet,  though  I  did  not 
succeed  in  obtaining  any  of  his  verses,  but  I  did  laugh 


i68        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

continually  over  his  wit.  Learning  I  was  from  Chi- 
cago, he  frankly  stated  that  he  hated  the  city. 
"There's  only  one  thing  I  like  about  Chicago,"  Mr. 
Briggs  asserted;  "that  is  the  people  are  all  in  such  a 
hurry  that  they  don't  stop  to  tell  you  their  troubles." 
They  had  fared  badly  for  "grub,"  all  agreed,  during 
the  winter,  but  there  was  a  superabundance  of  whisky 
which  could  be  warranted  to  turn  Israfil  into  Beelzebub 
before  anybody  could  realize  what  was  going  on. 
This  whisky  sold  for  $30  a  gallon,  and  cost  ninety  cents 
a  gallon  in  'Frisco. 

The  miners  were  crazy  for  news.  They  showed  an 
enthusiasm  over  a  torn  and  ancient  newspaper  that  a 
sack  of  nuggets  could  not  arouse,  and  they  read 
everything  to  the  personals,  the  beauty  advertisements, 
and  the  lost-and-founds.  Briggs  said  they  would  have 
been  reduced  to  reading  a  street  commissioner's  report 
and  the  dictionary  had  those  volumes  been  present  in 
camp.  All  the  men  eagerly  enquired  if  there  had  been 
war  over  Cuba,  and  we  sorrowfully  answered  no.  They 
asked  us  who  the  cabinet  were,  and  how  such  and  such 
an  occurrence  turned  out.  To  them  everything  awaited 
a  conclusion.  The  most  exciting  incidents  had  ended 
for  them  like  the  thrilling  chapters  in  harrowing  story 
papers,  and  there  had  been  no  "next"  "to  be  con- 
tinued" in.  They  were  amazed  at  our  forgetfulness 
and  ignorance,  and  so,  in  truth,  was  I,  when  it  was 
brought  to  notice  by  their  eager  questioning. 

The  second  time  I  went  up  the  river,  the  Healy 
carried  a  number  of  miners  who  had  drifted  down  in 
rowboats  from  Circle  City,  319  miles,  a  committee  sent 
to  investigate  the  district.  One  of  them  had  that 
morning  purchased  the  first  town  lot  in  Rampart  City, 
as  the  Minook  post  was  afterward  called.  It  was 
50x100  feet,  $100.  When  I  returned,  lots  had  risen 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS   169 

to  $500;  now,  I  am  told,  they  are  $1,200.  There 
were  twenty-five  men  when  we  went  up,  sixty  when 
we  came  down,  and  over  a  thousand  now,  I  hear.  Both 
companies  have  established  stores,  and  there  is  much 
excitement.  Gold,  though  not  so  plentiful  as  in  Klon- 
dike, is  of  much  better  quality,  being  worth  $18.68  an 
ounce  at  Minook  and  $17  in  Klondike.  The  dis- 
coverer, Minook,  is  an  Indian.  Indian  prospectors 
are  closely  watched  because  they  possess  much  infor- 
mation which  they  refuse  to  give'out,  especially  about 
quartz  lodes.  When  they  obtain  tools  they  are  fol- 
lowed. Little  Minook,  ten  miles  long,  and  Hunter's, 
twenty-five  miles,  flow  into  Minook.  Hunter  was 
disgusted  with  his  discovery,  and  abandoned  it,  but 
has  returned,  hearing  how  well  the  district  is  panning 
out.  Old  miners  say  Minook  is  best  adapted  to 
hydraulic  mining  of  all  the  Alaskan  districts.  The 
creeks  flow  between  high  banks,  and  the  side -pockets 
run  back  from  a  quarter  to  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  stream.  This  is  a  very  important  fact,  and 
the  find  at  Little  Minook  proves  what  has  been 
asserted,  that  gold  deposits  may  be  safely  predicted 
from  Minook  down  to  St.  Michaels,  as  part  of  the 
great  gold  belt  which  ends  in  the  richness  of  Siberia, 
where  the  Russian  government  owns  inestimable 
mines,  which  have  been  worked  for  many  years.  On 
"Discovery,"  Little  Minook,  122  ounces  was  taken  out 
in  a  short  time  from  one  prospect  hole.  One  miner  sank 
a  four-foot  hole  eighteen  feet  to  bed  rock,  and  took  out 
$3,350.  Many  of  the  men  who  started  for  Dawson  late 
in  the  sumrner,  and  failed  to  get  up  the  river,  wintered 
about  Minook,  and  staked  it  for  twenty  miles  around. 
They  are  more  than  likely  to  find  in  their  mis-fortune 
a  fortune,  as  did  a  man  Mr.  Briggs  told  me  of. 
"Poor  fellow,  he  had  been  ten  years  in  Alaska  chasing 


170        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

rainbows,  and  never  even  caught  a  color  (color  is 
Yukon  vernacular  for  gold),  so  he  decided  to  return  to 
his  father's  house.  He  struggled,  up  to  his  knees  in 
mud,  over  the  terrible  trail,  and  arrived  just  in  time 
to  miss  the  last  boat  of  the  season.  It  is  safe  to  assert 
that  he  was  the  maddest  man  in  the  country.  The 
welkin  rang  with  wicked  swear  words.  That  man 
struck  it  rich  in  Klondike  that  winter,  and  took  out  his 
dust  in  the  spring.  Men  don't  shake  the  dust  of  this 
country  from  their  feet,  you  know." 

On  Hunter  Creek  claims  are  1,000  feet  front,  but 
they  are  500  feet  on  Minook  and  Little  Minook. 
There  is  a  November  "representation,"  and  a  winter 
one  from  January  i  to  May  i.  It  is  an  unaccountably 
cold  district,  ice  frequently  forming  in  July.  The 
ground  is  frozen  from  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  down, 
while  at  Circle  City,  further  north,  it  freezes  only  a 
few  feet  below  the  surface. 

Did  I  tell  you  of  the  Minook  miner  whose  gun  had  a 
gold  sight?  He  said  he  had  no  metal  handy  but  gol< 
nuggets,  so  he  hammered  one  down  to  replace  the 
sight  he  had  lost.  I  said  something  about  how  hardl] 
money  came  in  the  States.  He  answered  gravely, 
4  *  The  blessed  home  country ;  I  have  wasted  my  youth 
here.  Success  is  coming  now,  but  I  don't  feel  fit  to 
go  back  to  the  States  and  marry  the  only  sort  oi 
woman  I  could  love.  My  gold  has  cost  me  youth,  and 
pleasures  and  culture  and  home,  beside  privations  and 
hard  work.  Haven't  you  noticed  the  expression  oi 
the  faces  of  us  fellows?  You  can  tell  a  new-comer  the 
minute  you  see  him,  he  looks  alive,  enthusiastic,  per- 
haps jolly.  We  old  miners  are  always  grave,  unless 
we're  drinking.  It's  a  dreadful  country  to  think  in, 
the  solitudes  are  awful.  We  all  know  why  the  Rus- 
sians banish  their  convicts  to  Siberia." 


TANANA,  MINOOK,  AND  THE  RAPIDS    171 

The  last  time  I  saw  Minook,  its  still,  solemn  moun- 
tains were  glowing  like  opals  tinder  a  midnight  sun- 
set. It  looked  like  fairyland  itself,  for  the  lights  were 
golden  and  the  shadows  of  amethyst. 

One  other  remembrance  I  have  of  this  part  of  the 
Yukon — an  evening's  walk  to  Fort  Hamlin,  at  the 
end  of  "The  Ramparts."  The  scene  was  of  exceeding 
beauty,  as  the  river  took  a  turn  among  the  mountains, 
followed  closely  by  myriads  of  wild  asters,  but  the 
mosquitoes  were  so  ferocious  that  I  became  fairly 
enraged.  With  head  covered,  and  a  branch  waving  in 
each  hand,  I  tried  to  fight  off  the  pests,  but  they  were 
not  in  the  least  discomfited.  The  house  at  Hamlin 
was  shut  up,  but  guns  were  out,  lying  on  logs  in 
front,  quite  secure  from  theft.  Many  other  things 
indicated  the  country  and  the  ingenuity  necessary  in 
it.  The  log  cabin  was  chinked  with  reindeer  moss,  a 
screen  door  hung  by  tin  hinges  with  nails  for  the  pins, 
a  homemade  wooden  washboard  leaned  against  the 
house,  to  which  steps  formed  of  birch  saplings  laid  in 
the  earth  led  from  the  beach  below.  The  place  was 
deserted  save  for  a  tent  down  by  the  river.  A  woman 
came  out,  holding  her  head  upon  her  clasped  hands, 
and  making  low  pathetic  sounds  like  a  dog  in  pain, 
begging  help.  She  was  thin  and  twisted  with  rheu- 
matism, and  wanted  medicine.  Of  course,  I  had  none, 
but  it  was  hard  to  tell  her  so,  and  to  see  her  drag  her- 
self back  and  lie  down  upon  the  ground  hopelessly. 
Even  if  I  had  had  any  medicine,  I  should  have  run 
risks  in  giving  it  to  her,  for  had  she  died  soon  her 
people  would  have  held  me  responsible  and  demanded 
blood  for  blood.  But  I  have  often  thought  of  the 
suffering  creature,  alone  but  for  a  sleeping  baby,  lying 
upon  the  ground,  the  seal  of  death  upon  her  face, 
watching  the  hurrying  river  as  if  it  were  her  own  life 


172        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;  ALASKA 

tide,  and  the  mysterious  mountains  out  of  whose  sight 
she  had  never  been,  but  was  so  soon  to  go.  White  or 
Indian,  "Two  hands  upon  the  breast  and  labor  is 
past." 


CHAPTER  XII 

COAL,  QUARTZ,    AND   OTHER   MINERALS   OF   ALASKA 

For  the  majority  of  people,  cold,  gold,  and  Alaska 
are  synonymous  terms,  and  it  will  be  some  time  before 
they  are  differentiated.  The  placer  mines  of  that 
country  and  of  Klondike  have  driven  the  world  half 
crazy,  a  world  quite  old  enough  to  know  better.  It  is 
natural  that  gold  in  such  marvelous  quantities,  so 
broadly  distributed,  should  monopolize  attention  at 
first,  but  already  the  United  States  is  beginning  to 
realize  the  vast  resources  and  possibilities  of  its  treas- 
ure, laid  by  for  the  nation's  rainy  day,  and  as  an  inher- 
itance for  her  children's  children.  In  Alaska,  our  coal 
mines  are  gold  mines,  too. 

Nature  distributes  her  gifts  with  reference  to  one 
another.  Alaska  is  heavily  timbered,  so  that  fuel  may 
be  readily  obtained  for  the  placers,  and  when  the 
"poor  man's  gold  mines"  shall  have  become  exhausted 
and  the  capitalist  takes  his  turn  at  quartz  mining, 
mountains  of  coal  stand  ready  to  lend  their  strength 
to  the  stamps.  Nowhere  else  in  the  world  are  such 
immense  coal  deposits,  nor  ever  have  been.  What 
dense  vegetation  for  ages  does  their  presence  and  that 
of  the  deep  peat  of  Alaska  argue!  Both  bituminous 
and  anthracite  have  been  found.  If  cannel  coal — so 
called  because  it  flames  like  a  candle — exists  there,  gas 
could  be  very  easily  manufactured,  and  the  expense 
and  lack  of  light,  one  of  the  present  hardships  of  the 
long  winter,  would  be  abolished.  Near  the  Yukon, 
849  miles  from  St.  Michael,  is  "Burning  Mountain," 

173 


174        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

which  is    undoubtedly    a  gigantic  coal    deposit  afire. 
The  Indians  say  it  has  always  smoked. 

Almost  upon  the  Arctic  Circle,  the  Porcupine  River 
empties  into  the  Yukon,  1,344  miles  from  its  mouth. 
Near  " Rampart  House,"  extending  along  the  Porcu- 
pine from  about  175  to  200  miles  up,  are  cliffs  of  almost 
solid  coal,  the  dust  from  which  blackens  the  snow  for 
many  miles,  as  if  the  polluted  beauty  were  trodden 
under  foot  in  the  streets  of  a  great  city  instead  of  lying 
upon  the  unbroken  solitudes  of  Alaska.  As  the  Porcu- 
pine is  navigable  for  considerable  boats  as  far  up  as 
these  great  coal  cliffs,  they  could  be  mined  from  the 
side  directly  into  scows. 

But  even  these  are  exceeded  by  the  almost  incredible 
coal  deposits  along  the  small  creeks  feeding  the 
Tanana  River.  Mr.  Frank  Densmore,  who  has  been 
for  twelve  years  a  miner  and  explorer  in  Alaska,  and 
knows  its  rivers  better,  probably,  than  any  other  man, 
told  me  last  summer  of  these  inexhaustible  bodies  of 
coal  which  he  had  recently  discovered  off  the  Tanana, 
and  which  have  never  before  been  reported.  The 
Tanana,  be  it  said,  is  1,500  miles  long,  and  Densmore 
has  traveled  its  length.  He  said,  in  his  quiet,  unboast- 
ful  way,  that  there  he  had  discovered  bluffs  with  six 
seams  in  clear  sight,  the  smallest  of  which  is  eight 
feet  through,  the  largest  thirty-six  feet !  No  need  for 
worry  about  fuel  for  future  generations.  They  might 
all  be  warmed  and  lighted  from  this  coal  yard  of  the 
world. 

Coal  is  as  easily  mined  in  Alaska  as  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, being  plainly  discernible  on  mountain  sides  and 
in  these  great  seams  along  bluffs.  The  out-croppings 
are  crumbly,  but  a  little  distance  in  the  quality  is  in 
most  cases  excellent.  In  some  places  it  is  fronted  by 
a  "coal-wall"  of  slate-like  rock.  Most  of  the  large 


COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS     175 

rivers  and  the  numberless  creeks  feeding  them  are 
bordered  in  great  stretches  with  coal,  which  can  be 
shot  down  into  boats  for  cheap  transportation.  As 
soon  as  people  have  recovered  from  the  frenzy  into 
which  the  glitter  of  gold  has  thrown  them,  they  will 
find  this  duller  mineral  is  not  to  be  despised,  and  its 
mining  will  furnish  employment  for  thousands  of  men. 
Because  no  one  has  so  far  had  time  or  inclination  to 
dig  the  black  diamonds,  miners  have  had  no  other  fuel 
than  wood,  with  which  a  fire  could  not  be  kept  the 
whole  night  of  bitter  cold.  With  one's  bed  over  a 
glacier,  and  the  frost  creeping  through  the  floor,  this 
left  much  to  be  desired.  A  coal  fire  would  warm  one's 
very  heart  under  these  circumstances.  I  asked  one 
miner  if  he  did  not  think  an  open  fire  of  glowing  coal 
would  seem  homelike  and  cheerful  after  a  long,  hard 
day's  digging.  His  face  lighted  for  a  moment,  but  he 
replied,  "We  don't  have  time  for  any  such  luxuries  as 
that.  Besides,  I  don't  know  why,  suppose  it's  the 
rarity  of  the  atmosphere,  but  open  fires  won't  burn  in 
Alaska.  Even  stoves  don't  draw  very  well  unless  they 
are  boxed  with  sheet  iron. ' ' 

"Briggs-es  mine,"  as  it  is  popularly  called,  is  the 
only  one  that  has  so  far  been  regularly  tunneled  and 
worked.  It  lies  near  Minook  Creek,  where  the  latest 
excitement  on  the  American  side  has  been  aroused, 
about  1,100  miles  from  St.  Michael.  The  shaft  can  be 
seen  from  the  boat,  as  it  burrows  into  the  mountain 
side  but  a  little  way  up  from  the  river  bank.  I  asked 
several  old  miners  and  prospectors  what  they  consid- 
ered the  limits  of  the  coal  region  in  Alaska.  With  one 
accord,  they  answered,  "Alaska  itself." 

These  great  coal  fields  extend  far  into  Russia  on  the 
west  and  Northwest  Territory  on  the  east.  For  some 
time  a  blacksmith  at  Forty-Mile,  N.  W.  T.,  has  used 


176        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

coal  obtained  from  a  curious  great  rock  called  Five 
Fingers,  ten  miles  away.  Five  miles  below  Forty-Mile 
is  a  valuable  coal  stretch  which  was  purchased  by  the 
"N.  A.  T.  &T.  Co.,"  who  have  built  a  tramway  to  con- 
duct the  coal  to  the  river.  Last  summer  they  sent  up 
a  dozen  oxen  to  haul  this  coal.  While  awaiting  a 
steamer  at  St.  Michael  to  take  them  up  the  Yukon, 
these  oxen  attracted  much  attention  from  the  Eski- 
mo, who  came  from  far  and  near  to  see  the  strange 
beasts.  By  the  way,  when  Captain  Ray  returned  from 
Alaska,  he  told  me  that  six  of  these  oxen  had  wintered 
at  Fort  Yukon,  where  one  hundred  tons  of  hay  had  been 
cut.  The  oxen  were  fat  and  sleek.  Two  of  them  had 
been  used  for  hauling  at  Minook.  One  day,  as  the  man 
was  driving  them,  urging  the  lazy  things  with  a  gad, 
the  miners  called  a  meeting,  decided  that  gads  were 
cruel,  that  the  beasts  would  better  be  dead,  and  should 
escape  the  gad  by  death.  Whereupon  the  oxen  were 
killed,  and  Rampart  City  ate  fresh  meat.  This  is  a 
good  example  of  the  proceedings  of  miners'  courts. 

The  English  will  rejoice  over  these  Dominion  coal 
fields,  for  years  ago  they  began  to  be  alarmed  over  the 
rapidly  decreasing  domestic  output,  a  decrease  scarce 
to  be  wondered  at  when  you  remember  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  were  the  first  to  burn  coal,  over  a  thousand 
years  ago,  and  nearly  six  centuries  ago  parliament  inter- 
dicted its  growing  use,  which  was  considered  injurious  to 
public  health.  But  its  use  has  increased  to  the  pres- 
ent day,  while  the  coal  has  not.  As  one  of  their 
writers  said,  "We  are  not  living  on  the  interest  of  our 
coal,  but  on  the  capital. ' ' 

William  Ogilvie,  Dominion  land  surveyor,  a  man 
acquainted  with  the  whole  Yukon  region  as  few  are, 
writes,  "In  the  course  of  a  year,  I  believe  coal  will 
supersede  wood  for  fuel."  A  year  ago  he  reported, 


COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS     17* 

"about  seven  miles  up  Coal  Creek,  in  coarse  sandstone 
and  under  drift  clay  and  gravel,  is  a  seam  twelve  feet  six 
inches  thick.  Coal  was  reported  at  that  time  on  the 
Chandinduk,  thirty  miles  from  Cudahy.  In  this 
region,  the  coal  extends  along  the  valley  of  the  Yukon 
from  Coal  Creek  down  for  ten  or  twelve  miles,  and  up 
to  Twelve-Mile  Creek,  which  flows  into  the  Yukon 
about  thirty  miles  above  Fort  Cudahy. ' ' 

Oil,  too,  in  positive  lakes,  has  been  discovered  in 
Alaska,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  entire  country  is  a 
vast  retort  for  natural  gas,  which  may  yet  drive  the 
engines  for  the  smelters.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  that 
Mother  Earth  need  not,  even  in  her  old  age,  go  shiver- 
ing to  bed.  Yet,  if  her  prodigal  children  burn  the 
coal  till  her  bins  are  empty  and  she,  poor  thing,  can 
only  freeze  to  death  like  the  moon,  who  ought  to  serve 
as  a  dreadful  example,  we  ourselves  shall  have  long 
since  quitted  this  planet  with  its  problems  present  and 
to  come. 

Of  the  quartz  gold  of  Alaska,  little  is  said,  but 
the  world  will  talk  of  it  soon.  While  there  was  no 
way  of  bringing  into  the  country  the  heavy  machinery 
necessary  in  reducing  ores,  men  naturally  neglected 
quartz  for  the  more  accommodating  placer  gold ;  but 
many  quietly  explored  the  rugged  mountains  back  of 
the  golden  streams,  and  know  where  to  locate  claims 
when  the  time  comes,  and  it  is  near  at  hand.  Mr. 
Densmore,  to  whom  I  have  before  referred  because 
of  his  knowledge  of  Alaskan  rivers  at  their  sources,  has 
ascended  the  Koyukuk  600  of  its  1,000  miles  in  a  little 
steamer  drawing  about  two  and  a  half  feet  of  water. 
When  the  river  is  high,  even  larger  boats  could  navigate 
it  that  far,  but  not,  ordinarily,  more  than  450  miles.  He 
says  that  for  the  first  400  miles  the  sluggish  river  is 
crookeder  than  the  Jordan.  The  bed  of  the  Koyukuk 


178        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

for  one  hundred  miles  is  of  white  quartz.  Densmore 
pounded  this  quartz,  and  tried  out  the  gold,  obtaining 
from  some  bars,  by  this  primitive  "process,  from  $50 
to  $70  a  day.  He  found  one  boulder  weighing  at 
least  100  pounds,  in  a  gulch  on  the  Keokuk,  which  con- 
tained free  gold.  Pay  quartz  is  also  reported  up  the 
Tanana,  and  I  saw  some  good  specimens  which  came 
from  some  locality  near  St.  Michael,  the  prospector 
would  not  tell  me  where.  Miller,  an  old  miner,  and 
the  recorder  of  the  Minook  district,  says  that  from 
Hunter  Creek,  in  that  group,  quartz  ledges  extend 
twenty  miles  each  way.  Of  course,  the  quartz  of 
Southeastern  Alaska  is  well  known.  The  Treadwell 
mine  on  Douglass  Island,  two  miles  from  Juneau,  has 
the  largest  quartz  mill  in  the  world,  and  produces  over 
half  a  million  dollars  a  year,  although  the  ore  averages 
but  $2.50  to  $3  a  ton.  There  is  but  one  other  where 
the  ore  is  quarried,  instead  of  mined.  Quartz  has 
been  found  in  all  this  region,  though  not  particularly 
rich  anywhere.  On  the  Western  Islands,  the  Apollo 
mine,  on  Unga  Island,  is  the  best,  and  is  yielding 
$300,000  a  year.  Much  of  the  gold  is  free.  Prospect- 
ing on  Kadiak  Island  has  developed  some  promising 
quartz. 

More  prospecting  has  been  done  on  the  Canadian 
side  in  the  Yukon  Valley.  Just  below  Forty-Mile  a 
curious  isolated  butte  rises,  from  which  quartz  gold 
has  already  been  taken  running  from  $4  to  $20  a  ton. 
Mr.  Ogilvie  says  in  his  report,  "Assays  of  the  Cone 
Hill  quartz  are  very  satisfactory,  and  the  quantity 
good  for  generations  of  work.  Were  it  on  the  coast, 
the  Treadwell  mine  would  be  diminutive  beside  it. 
*  *  *  The  miners  here  are,  I  understand,  getting 
up  a  petition  to  the  minister  asking  for  aid  in  opening 
a  way  from  the  south  and  building  along  it  shelter  for 


COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS     179 

winter  travelers,  with  suitable  supplies  scattered 
along. ' ' 

They  were  working  the  quartz  mine  directly  opposite 
Dawson  when  I  was  there,  having  two  tunnels  well 
in.  The  specimen  highest  in  gold,  however,  assayed 
$19  to  the  ton,  and  the  best  specimen  containing  gold, 
copper,  silver,  lead  and  antimony,  assayed  $46  for  all. 
It  is  a  curious  fact,  by  the  way,  that  there  is  but  one 
place  in  the  world  where  all  the  minerals,  including 
gold,  can  be  saved  in  reducing  the  ore.  That  is 
Swansea,  Wales,  where  the  secret  is  most  carefully 
guarded,  all  the  workmen  being  under  oath  to  preserve 
it  inviolate.  Silver  can  be  destroyed,  but  not  gold, 
which  is,  like  Truth,  immortal. 

Copper  is  found  in  many  parts  of  Alaska,  not  in 
ores,  from  which  it  is  by  such  tedious  processes 
removed,  but  in  large  pieces  of  native  copper.  This 
is  generally  too  hard  to  be  easily  worked,  but  the 
native  copper  of  Alaska  is  quite  soft,  so  much  so  that 
that  found  at  the  head  of  White  River  is  whittled  by 
the  Indians.  They  commonly  make  bullets  of  it.  Pure 
copper  is  found  near  the  head  of  the  Tanana,  and  also 
up  the  Kuskokwim.  On  the  forks  of  the  Koyukuk, 
about  2  oo  miles  up  the  river,  there  is  much  of  the  same 
mineral,  which  was  one  of  the  first  to  be  used  by  man. 

Cinnabar  is  a  rare  mineral,  the  ore  of  mercury. 
Spain  has  for  2,300  years  produced  the  bulk  of  it,  yet 
even  cinnabar  is  among  the  treasures  of  this  Isle  of 
Monte  Cristo. 

Amber,  the  gum  of  an  extinct  coniferous  tree,  is 
usually  found  where  vast  deposits  of  coal  lie,  and 
Alaska  is  no  exception,  though  no  amber  of  fine  quality 
has  so  far  been  discovered.  Mr.  Miller,  now  recorder 
of  Minook,  is  said  to  be  a  fine  geologist,  and  to  possess 
a  valuable  mineral  cabinet.  I  was  told  he  had  some 


i8o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

specimens  of  amber  that  he  had  found  in  coal.  Some- 
times this  deposit  throws  much  light  upon  the  age  of  a 
country.  Pope  says: 

Pretty  in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  or  worms ; 
The  things  we  know  are  neither  rich  nor  rare, 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Mr.  Miller,  while  washing  out  gold,  also  discovered 
a  little  platinum. 

Iron  and  iron-rock  have  been  found  in  Franklin 
Gulch.  The  presence  of  the  latter  is  a  pretty  good 
indication  of  the  near  proximity  of  gold.  Iron-rock  is 
extremely  hard  and  dull  black,  resembling  ebony.  It 
is  sometimes  found  in  cubes,  geometrically  perfect.  A 
miner  I  met,  disdaining  common  nuggets  of  gold,  had 
a  beautiful  little  specimen  of  iron-rock;  which  he 
intended  wearing  for  a  luck-charm. 

Along  Napoleon  Creek  is  a  cement  ledge  at  least  500 
feet  long. 

Gray  marble  is  found  on  Forty-Mile  Creek.  Though 
not  hard  where  exposed,  it  is  said  to  improve  with 
depth. 

Granites  are  found  five  miles  up  Sixty- Mile  Creek. 

Some  people  in  this  world  never  succeed  to  positions 
of  honor,  nor  to  the  emoluments  thereof,  but  they 
assist  those  who  do,  and,  themselves  unheard  of,  make 
toward  righteousness,  which  is  only  Tightness  in  any 
work,  after  all.  It  is  so  with  antimony,  that  hard, 
white,  untarnishable  mineral.  It  is  in  the  background 
of  the  useful  Britannia  metal ;  it  helps  the  large  con- 
cave mirrors  reflect  the  heavens  in  astronomical  obser- 
vations ;  the  great  bell's  tone  is  the  clearer  and  stronger 
because  of  it;  and  its  strength,  wedded  to  the  beauty 
of  a  precious  metal,  forms  a  union  of  real  service. 
Antimony  occurs  in  most  of  Alaska's  quartz. 


COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS     181 

Free  silver  has  been  washed  out  on  El  Dorado  Creek. 

Crystals,  in  cubes  a  little  smaller  than  rock-sugar, 
have  been  picked  up  on  the  Porcupine. 

Asbestos,  lead,  and  jade,  that  heaven-fallen  stone  of 
the  ancients  and  of  barbarians  today,  have  all  been 
found  in  Alaska,  and  meerschaum,  sacred  to  "My 
Lady  Nicotine. ' '  Near  Ft.  Wrangell  there  is  a  great 
ledge  of  garnet  and  separate  garnets  are  found  upon 
many  creeks.  Mrs.  J.  J.  Healy  has  a  curious  nugget, 
set  by  the  hand  of  Nature  herself  with  a  little  garnet. 
Several  rubies  have  also  been  washed  out,  but  none,  it 
is  unnecessary  to  state,  at  all  resembling  that  fabulous 
one  mentioned  by  Marco  Polo  as  belonging  to  the  King 
of  Ceylon,  a  ruby  flawless,  a  span  in  length,  and  of  the 
thickness  of  a  man's  arm.  No  wonder  the  price  of  a 
city  was  offered  for  it  by  Kublai  Khan,  and  small 
wonder  that  even  so  great  a  price  was  refused. 

And  lastly,  ivory.  That  of  the  walrus  is  of  little 
value,  not  being  true  ivory,  which  is  distinguished  as 
only  that  which,  in  a  transverse  section,  shows  circular 
markings.  But  it  is  probable  that  there  will  be  much 
fossil  ivory  unearthed,  tusks  of  the  extinct  hairy  ele- 
phants which  roamed  Alaska  in  herds  aeons  ago. 
Scientists  estimate  the  years  since  these  huge  beasts 
lived,  with  latitude  rather  surprising,  from  150,000  to 
1,000,000  years,  yet  whole  mounds  of  fossil  ivory 
exist  in  Alaska  today.  Mastodon  Creek  was  named 
from  the  great  deposits  of  mastodons  there,  animals 
which  even  antedated  the  hairy  elephant.  Most  of 
this  ivory  so  far  discovered  has  been  exposed  to  the  air 
and  is  worthless,  being  chalky  and  fragile.  The 
Eskimo  and  Indians  use  it  for  carving  because  it  can 
be  so  easily  scratched.  I  have  a  pipe  made  from  it, 
and  several  bits  of  the  curve  of  the  great  tusk  etched 
with  figures  of  almost  Egyptian  style.  But  some  of 


i82        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

this  fossil  ivory  is  very  beautiful.  G.  G.  Brittner,  of 
Chicago,  the  oldest  ivory  cutter  in  the  country,  who 
has  turned  billiard  balls  for  all  the  expert  players  of 
the  world,  and  who  knows  ivory  as  he  does  himself, 
grew  enthusiastic  over  this  Arctic  ivory.  A  miner 
sent  Mr.  Brittner  a  mammoth  tusk  from  which  to  cut 
some  balls.  Mr.  Brittner  told  him  if  he  knew  where 
there  was  plenty  of  such  fine  ivory  it  would  prove  his 
Klondike.  The  Indians  are  said  to  know  where  fossil 
ivory  of  this  quality  is  plenty,  Jbut  they  keep  the  secret. 
Just  the  thought  of  one  of  these  hideous  hairy  giant 
beasts,  if  it  comes  to  me  late  in  the  evening,  invariably 
gives  me  nightmare.  It  is  too  dreadful  to  contemplate 
what  effect  a  herd  of  them  in  the  flesh  would  produce. 
The  fossil  elephant  and  the  mastodon,  by  the  way,  are 
the  only  extinct  animals  of  so  early  a  life  whose  frames 
have  been  actually  seen  entire.  No  part  of  either  is  left 
to  the  imagination  of  the  naturalist  to  supply.  The  hairy 
elephant,  indeed,  has  been  preserved  by  Mother 
Earth's  unrivaled  system  of  cold  storage  to  this  very 
day,  so  many  natives  say.  However  that  may  be,  in 
1799,  a  hunter  of  the  far  north  came  upon  a  shapeless 
mass  in  the  midst  of  rocks  of  ice.  He  did  not  then 
discover  what  it  was,  but  four  years  later  found  it  to 
be  a  prehistoric  animal  standing  erect  in  death  and  ice 
of  many  centuries.  Instead  of  being  overwhelmed 
with  scientific  delight,  imaginative  horror,  or  even 
ordinary  curiosity,  the  hunter's  paltry  brain  experienced 
nothing  but  a  desire  for  the  spoils.  He  clambered  up 
the  mighty  dead,  so  strangely  left  the  biographer  of, 
and  monument  to,  his  ancient  race,  and  cut  away  the 
huge  tusks.  He  did  not  even  consider  the  strange  dis- 
covery worth  reporting,  but  the  sale  of  the  ivory 
awakened  questions,  and  in  1806  an  expedition  returned 
to  the  monster.  Late  summers  had  melted  the  ice, 


COAL,  QUARTZ,  AND  OTHER  MINERALS     183 

and  after  its  many  thousands  of  years'  waiting1,  the  giant 
beast  lay  prone  upon  its  side,  and  dogs,  wolves  and 
bears  had  feasted  upon  its  flesh.  Dampness  had 
induced  rapid  decay.  But  three-fourths  of  the  pelt 
remained.  This  was  carefully  removed.  It  was  so 
heavy  that  ten  men  with  difficulty  carried  it  to  the 
shore,  but  150  feet  distant.  The  skin  was  dark  gray, 
covered  with  thick,  reddish,  curly  wool,  hanging  in 
locks,  and  this,  by  black  bristle-like  hairs,  from  an  inch 
to  eighteen  inches  in  length.  The  warmth  of  his 
covering  effectually  opposes  the  hypothesis  of  a  tropi- 
cal climate's,  formerly  existing  in  these  northern  lands. 
This  elephant,  a  male,  was  16  feet  4  inches  long,  9 
feet  4  inches  high,  and  the  curve  of  the  tusks  9  feet  6. 
A  long,  heavy  mane  and  ears  ornamented  with  tufts 
of  hair  completed  his  beauties.  All  the  skeleton  but  a 
foreleg  and  one  piece  of  the  tail  was  secured  and 
removed  to  St.  Petersburg,  where,  articulated  and  cov- 
ered with  the  skin,  it  now  stands.  Part  of  the  pelt 
was  bought  by  the  British  Museum. 

I  have  often  thought  of  that  unwieldly  corpse,  stand- 
ing those  weary  ages  in  the  far  north,  looking  with 
unseeing  eyes  across  the  solitary  waste  of  ice  and 
snow,  unable  to  lay  his  bones  among  his  kindred,  but 
waiting  for  something  unknown.  Changes  stupendous 
and  myriad  took  place  in  the  world  without,  but  none 
in  the  desolation  which  was  his  tomb.  One  day  a  puny 
being  broke  upon  his  solitude,  but  the  dead  had  for- 
gotten to  keep  watch ;  he  perceived  not  the  insignifi- 
cant advent  till  the  thief  had  despoiled  him  of  his  ivory 
crown.  And  his  forgotten  message!  Ah,  what  was 
that  for  which  he  had  stood,  faithful  beyond  death 
itself  since  before  the  mountains  were?  He  had 
failed.  In  despairing  humiliation,  he  swayed  to  and 
fro  and  finally  fell,  crashing  upon  his  mighty  side, 


i84        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

prone  upon  the  earth  which  even  then  refused  him 
sepulchre.  So  ended  his  long,  lonely  vigil,  so  the  mes- 
sage, like  many  another  one,  rang  clearly  out  in  the 
moment  of  seeming  defeat.  For  it  is  not  the  mes- 
senger— if  only  we  could  bear  to  remember  that !  it  is 
not  the  messenger,  but  the  message,  the  message. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ALASKA   DOGS 

Have  you  ever  thought  that  it  is  of  the  commonest 
things  we  know  least?  Evidences  of  electricity  are 
constantly  seen  at  every  hand,  yet  the  greatest  scien- 
tist in  the  world  knows  little  of  its  nature.  Death  is  of 
momentary  occurrence,  yet  to  the  wisest  it  remains  as 
great  a  mystery  as  to  a  little  child.  Common  sense  is 
more  uncommon  than  charity,  and  in  a  commonwealth 
wealth  is  exceptional.  Show  me  the  animal  found  most 
frequently  among  men,  and  I'll  show  you  one  that  the 
most  eminent  naturalist  has  never  been  able  even  to 
classify,  and  which  remains  to  him  more  of  a  puzzle 
than  the  ichthyosaurus,  which  has  been  extinct  for 
ages.  This,  too,  when  the  dog  has  lived  about  men 
since  the  earliest  recorded  history.  The  monuments 
of  Nineveh  and  Egypt  bear  many  pictures  of  domesti- 
cated dogs,  and  the  Bible's  many  references  to  them 
are  always  execrations,  with  the  single  exception,  I 
think,  of  those  that  took  pity  upon  Lazarus.  They 
are  charged  with  every  despicable  trait.  Moses  asso- 
ciates the  price  of  a  dog  with  the  hire  of  a  whore. 
Ancient  writers  seem  almost  unanimous  upon  this  sub- 
ject, yet  Homer  writes  most  touchingly  of  Ulysses' 
dog,  the  only  one  that  recognized  the  returned  king. 
Perhaps  Homer,  blind,  had  been  led  about  by  his,  and 
was  grateful. 

If  dogs  were  not  maligned,  they  have  certainly  bene- 
fited marvelously  by  civilization.  Cuvier  says,  "The 
dog  is  the  most  complete,  the  most  singular,  and  the 

185 


186        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

most  useful  conquest  ever  made  by  man. ' '  Certainly  he 
is  now  credited  with  almost  every  virtue.  Many  a  little 
child  would  scorn  a  Heaven  where  he  would  not  be 
welcomed  by  the  joyous  yelp  of  his  dog  and  guided 
through  the  streets  of  gold  to  the  asphodel  meadows 
where  they  could  tumble  noisily  throughout  the  shin- 
ing day.  Have  you  heard  of  the  little  boy  who  ceased 
his  crying  over  his  dead  playfellow  to  remark,  'Til  bet 
the  angels '11  be  scared  when  Fido  tears  up  the  path; 
you  know  he's  always  cross  with  strangers." 

"Old  dog  Tray's  ever  faithful,  grief  cannot  drive  him  away; 

He's  gentle  and  he's  kind,  you'll  never,  never  find 
A  better  friend  than  old  dog  Tray." 

But  dogs  are  only  as  civilized  as  their  master  race, 
and  among  Indians  they  are  still  barbarians.  I  never 
realized  this  so  forcibly  as  in  Alaska.  Between  the 
natives  and  their  dogs  exist  no  love,  kindness  nor 
fidelity.  The  Indian  kicks  and  cuffs  and  starves  his 
dog,  the  little  child  follows  suit,  and  the  dog  is  cow- 
ardly, quarrelsome,  thieving,  in  consequence.  I  did 
not  see  a  single  example  of  affection  toward  dogs  in 
Alaska.  They  are  tethered  short  by  a  piece  of  wood 
tied  to  a  peg  driven  into  the  ground,  and  every  native 
that  goes  by  seems  to  bestow  an  idle  kick  in  passing, 
while  children  find  much  amusement  in  pulling  their 
hair  and  beating  them  till  they  howl.  They  are  often 
cruelly  overworked,  and  are  in  a  chronic  state  of 
semi-starvation,  the  result  being  that  they  are  expert 
thieves.  A  man  in  St.  Michael's  told  me  that  they 
wished  to  keep  some  meat  for  future  use,  so  barreled 
it  and  buried  the  barrel.  The  dogs  smelled  the  meat 
through  all  the  snow,  tunneled  it,  and  actually  ate  right 
through  the  oak  staves  and  obtained  that  meat.  On 
the  coast,  when  the  Eskimo  are  working  their  dogs, 


ALASKA  DOGS  187 

they  give  each  three  tomcod  a  day,  and  a  tomcod  is  a 
very  small  fish.  The  dogs  are  gorging  then.  When 
not  in  actual  service,  they  must  procure  their 
own  rations.  They  thrive  on  what  a  Harlem  goat 
would  disdain,  they  fatten  on  what  a  mountain  burro 
would  not  discover.  This  is  fortunate,  for  as  Eski- 
mo eat  almost  everything,  even  to  entrails,  which  are 
their  lobster  a  la  Newburg,  there  is  little  to  spare  for 
the  poor  brutes,  and  they  are  often  reduced  to  a  diet 
of  an  occasional  tin  can,  a  scrap  of  sealskin,  the 
memory  of  tomcod,  and  hope.  None  of  these  are 
fattening.  The  dogs  become  even  too  weak  to  fight. 

Eskimo  dogs  are  a  class  in  themselves.  They 
closely  resemble  wolves,  if  indeed  they  are  not  of  the 
same  family.  Their  skins  would,  unquestioned,  draw 
wolf  bounty.  They  are  gray,  with  sharp  ears  and 
pointed  faces,  and  weigh  about  forty  pounds.  A  wolf 
was  once  caught  at  Fish  River  valley  and  crossed  with 
dogs.  It  surely  seems  that  wolves  are  only  the  sav- 
age ancestors  of  the  barbarian  dogs.  As  has  been 
intimated,  Eskimo  have  no  mercy  on  their  canine 
servants.  One  night  one  of  the  poor  brutes  bore  six 
pups  in  the  snow.  In  the  morning  the  Eskimo,  a 
woman,  too,  dragged  the  howling  mother  away  by  the 
ears  from  her  young,  hitched  her  with  the  rest  of  the 
team,  and  applied  the  lash,  leaving  the  helpless  pup- 
pies upon  the  ground  to  starve,  not  even  troubling  to 
kill  them.  A  white  man  who  saw  it  showed  that  much 
mercy.  In  driving,  they  have  no  word  of  command, 
only  the  sting  of  the  long  swirling  rawhide,  with  which 
Eskimo  are  so  expert.  Surely,  if  dogs  live  again, 
these  have  suffered  enough  to  place  them  upon  a  higher 
canine  plane. 

Eskimo  dogs  are  like  any  other  rabble.  They 
advance  fiercely  upon  a  stranger,  but  if  he  will  face 


i88        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

two  hundred  of  them  fearlessly,  they  will  sneak  one 
behind  another  and  run  away  at  a  motion,  in  a  truly 
human  way.  If  you  are  dressed  like  a  native,  they 
will  not  notice  you.  One  peculiarity  of  Eskimo  dogs 
is  that  they  cannot  bark;  they  howl,  though,  in  a 
manner  to  drive  one  mad. 

When  necessary,  the  natives  eat  their  dogs,  but  they 
do  not  seem  to  esteem  them  a  dainty,  as  the  Indians 
further  south  do,  where  they  fatten  them  in  prepara- 
tion for  a  feast.  Captain  Barr  has  eaten  dog  with 
Rain-in-the-Face  and  Crow  Dog,  and  pronounces  it 
very  good.  There  are  many  miners  who  have  been 
several  years  in  the  Northland  who  know  the  flavor  of 
dog,  for  prejudices  weaken  under  the  stress  of  hunger 
to  an  astonishing  degree.  Mr.  Densmore  told  me  that 
in  his  twelve  years'  life  in  Alaska,  he  had  eaten  of 
many  strange  dishes,  but  the  worst  he  remembered 
was  a  meal  he  and  his  partner  cooked  while  explor- 
ing. They  had  watched  for  game,  but  succeeded 
in  finding  nothing  but  one  loon  and  one  musk- 
rat.  The  loon  was  so  tough  that  it  took  both  of 
them  to  skin  it,  and  the  muskrat  was  not  in  his  first 
youth.  One  was  black,  one  blue.  They  boiled  them 
together  as  long  as  their  half -starved  stomachs  would 
wait,  and  then  sat  down  to  eat,  though  the  "game" 
was  still  so  tough  that  you  couldn't  stick  a  fork  through 
the  gravy.  *4 Still,"  said  Densmore,  "that  dinner 
disappeared  as  rapidly  as  difficulty  in  mastication 
would  permit,  for  we  had  a  four  days'  appetite  for  it. 
'Twasn't  really  bad,  though  I've  tasted  things  I  liked 
better.  However,  we  found  muskrat  and  loon  boiled 
together  make  good  glue,  which  kept  us  together  till 
we  struck  something  else.  Unusual?  Why,  no,  a 
prospector  has  plenty  of  such  experiences  if  he  goes 
far,  as  I  have  done,  up  the  rivers  and  away  from  trad- 


ALASKA  DOGS  189 

ing  posts.  I  remember  once  traveling  from  Forty- 
Mile  to  St.  Michael's  (1,598  miles).  It  was  in  '95,  the 
year  the  Arctic  sunk.  Toward  the  end  we  had  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  eat  for  several  days  but  flour  and 
cranberries  which  we  picked.  I've  never  eaten  a 
cranberry  since.  I  had  my  fill  for  a  lifetime  then.  I 
don't  even  eat  cranberries  with  turkey  now — especial- 
ly," and  Densmore's  black  eyes  laughed,  "especially 
as  I  haven't  tasted  turkey  since  before  that.  I 
haven't  been  out  of  Alaska  for  twelve  years." 

Dogs  may  be  bought  cheap  down  the  river  about  St. 
Michael.  Formerly  they  were  but  three  to  five  dollars ; 
now  they  are  ten,  the  freight  making  them  cost  much 
more.  Every  boat  carries  a  number,  and  these  join 
their  voices  with  their  brethren's  at  every  landing  in 
long-drawn  howls,  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 
I  never  heard  one  of  them  make  a  joyous  noise  of  any 
kind.  Misery  has  been  their  portion,  and  they  know 
no  other  language  than  a  wail.  Captain  Barr  told  me 
that  last  winter  they  gathered  a  team  of  dogs  for  use 
on  short  trips  from  the  boat.  They  treated  the 
dodging  brutes  kindly  and  fed  them  sufficiently,  viz. , 
a  large  dried  salmon  a  day  to  each.  At  first  the  dogs 
would  expect  a  kick  from  every  near-by  boot,  and 
seemed  puzzled  by  their  humane  treatment,  but  in  a 
short  time  they  avoided  Indians,  and  finally  wouldn't 
allow  one  to  come  aboard.  Plainly,  they  remembered 
their  former  treatment,  and  resented  it.  Toward 
spring,  when  the  ice  was  breaking  up,  they  grew  very 
uneasy,  and  watched  it  with  undeniable  anxiety.  But 
the  worst  happened,  just  as  they  feared.  The  edict 
went  forth  and  they  had  to  keep  it  company,  though 
they  wouldn't  leave,  and  begged  and  howled  in  quite 
a  human  way.  Even  after  the  boat  left,  the  leader 
swam  after  it,  howling  dismally;  it  was  really  pitiful. 


i9o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Last  summer  the  Healy  carried  a  huge  full-blooded 
St.  Bernard,  whose  pedigree  was  as  long  as  your  arm, 
"Lord  Belvedere."  He  did  no  work,  of  course,  and 
bore  his  title  with  a  dignity  which  plainly  indicated 
his  blue  blood.  It  was  very  laughable  to  see  him  go 
ashore  at  every  landing  and  stand  watching  the  bar- 
barian dogs  which  fought  to  fill  up  time,  while  ever  on 
the  alert  for  garbage  of  any  sort  thrown  over  by  the 
cook.  They  were  too  way-down-Beebe  to  afford  him 
any  real  amusement,  for  I  have  often  detected  him  in 
a  long-drawn  yawn,  but  they  helped  pass  the  time,  he 
felt.  The  Indian  dogs  had  the  unusual  sense  to  realize 
how  inferior  they  were  and  kept  their  distance.  I 
never  saw  it  otherwise  except  at  Nulato,  where  a  dis- 
graceful scene  of  presumption  occurred.  Lord  Belve- 
dere had  strolled  ashore  as  usual,  and  was  idly  watching 
the  canaille,  when  one  barbarian  came  near  and  brushed 
rudely  against  my  lord's  immaculate  shirt  front. 
Emboldened  by  this,  as  Lord  Belvedere  was  evidently 
too  astounded  to  say  a  word,  another  impudent  Indian 
dog  advanced  and  lightly  struck  him.  Lord  still 
refused  to  resent  the  insult  offered  by  one  so  far 
beneath  him.  This  was  evidently  construed  as  cow- 
ardice, and  the  "Siwash"  followed  him  along,  flicking 
him  at  intervals.  I  myself  began  to  wonder  at  Lord 
Belvedere's  patience,  but  he  suddenly  turned,  seized 
the  daring  fellow,  shook  him  violently,  gave  him  a 
cuff  or  two,  and  set  him  down,  glad  enough  to  escape 
from  the  jeers  of  his  fellow  canines.  Then  Lord  Bel- 
vedere, athletic,  calm,  bored,  towering  far  above  them, 
strolled  back  to  the  boat.  Another  time,  though,  he 
wandered  along  in  his  highbred  way,  apparently  lost 
in  thought,  for  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  whistle. 
After  the  boat  was  well  under  way,  it  was  discovered 
my  lord  was  not  aboard.  It  was  necessary  to  put  back. 


ALASKA  DOGS 


191 


A  plank  was  thrown  out,  but  he  would  not  risk  wet- 
ting his  feet,  so  one  of  the  crew  was  obliged  to  assist 
his  lordship  aboard.  He  was  not  in  the  least  ruffled. 
Thus  does  high  birth  tell.  Soon  after  this,  Captain 
Barr  was  ill,  and  the  dog  died.  According  to  the  uni- 
versal Indian  belief,  the  dog  died  in  place  of  his  mas- 
ter. I  know  once,  in  Montana,  a  squaw  was  wailing 
over  the  illness  of  her  husband,  when  one  of  the  tribe 
rushed  joyously  in  to  tell  her  that  his  horse  was  dead. 
She  instantly  rose,  comforted,  and  no  longer  worried 
through  his  dangerous  illness.  St.  Bernards  are  very 
valuable  dogs  for  Alaska,  by  the  way,  being  large, 
strong  and  accustomed  to  mountain  climbing  in  the 
snow. 

Last  winter  dogs  were  scarce  up  the  Yukon,  at  prices 
which  began  at  $100  and  reached  $225.  One  sold  at 
Dawson  for  $300.  I  saw  four  at  Tanana  for  which 
their  owner  refused  $1000  in  gold.  All  of  these  were 
nothing  but  ordinary  dogs.  They  rented  for  two  dol- 
lars apiece,  and  more,  a  month.  As  it  requires  seven 
for  a  good  team,  Indians  made  considerable  money 
hiring  them  to  prospectors.  As  the  miners  had  no 
dried  fish,  which  is  dog's  staff  of  life,  they  were  obliged 
to  feed  them  boiled  flour  with  bacon  grease  stirred  into 
it,  boiled  corn  meal  and  bacon  rinds,  boiled  dried 
peas,  and  other  things  strange  to  our  notions  of  dog 
food.  The  only  thing  I  heard  of  dogs  refusing  to  eat 
was  some  bacon  which  one  of  the  miners  at  Minook 
told  me  they  scorned,  although  it  cost  forty-five  cents 
a  pound,  and  the  men  were  frying  it  for  their  own 
dinner.  He  said  that  although  it  was  seventy-two 
degrees  below  zero,  they  could  none  of  them  stand  the 

lor  while  it  sizzled,  and  had  to  open  the  door.  I  can 
rell  believe  that,  but  with  my  knowledge  of  "Siwash" 

)gs,  I  can  scarcely  credit  that  they  actually  spurned 


192        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

food  of  any  kind.  I  fear  that  so  strong  a  statement  is 
to  be  taken  only  in  a  Pickwickian  sense,  as  proving 
how  unappetizing  was  the  bacon.  However,  as  the 
miner  insists  that  he  will  stand  by  his  sworn  statement 
as  to  the  incredible  fact  mentioned,  I  will,  without 
further  dissonance,  simply  append  his  name  and  make 
him  solely  responsible.  It  is  Briggs,  A.  W.  Briggs. 

The  Indians  protect  their  store  of  food  from  dogs  by 
placing  in  "caches,"  small  sheds  on  posts.  At  the 
corner  you  may  see  a  primitive  stair,  just  a  notched 
log.  These  caches  are  now  also  used  by  the  whites. 

Few  miners  brought  dogs  in  with  them,  but  one  who 
did  was  "Abe" — I  think  his  name  is  Gordon.  He  is  a 
young  and  good-looking  fellow  who  discovered  the 
"Copper  Chief"  several  years  ago.  His  big  New- 
foundland easily  "packs"  forty  pounds  over  the  hills 
and  far  away  to  his  mine.  Some  "civilized"  dogs  do 
better.  I  heard  of  one  that  packed  seventy-five  pounds 
on  his  back.  It  is  a  relief  to  see  a  great  gentle 
dog  like  this  Newfoundland  in  Alaska,  and  to  note  the 
confidence  between  him  and  his  master.  Indians 
think  this  affection  between  dog  and  man  very  laugh- 
able. There  was  a  man  named  "Oscar"  on  our  boat 
who  had  a  small  pet  dog,  of  no  earthly  use  except,  as  a 
tot  I  know  says  of  himself,  "  'cept  jus'  only  to  love." 
When  we  stopped  at  Fort  Yukon,  Indian  dogs  and 
Indian  boys  both  amused  themselves  chasing  the  lit- 
tle unfortunate,  who  put  for  the  woods  in  spite  of  the 
mosquitoes.  Oscar  was  wild — no  relation  to  the  Eng- 
lish author — he  came  near  being  himself  left  in  trying 
to  recover  his  dog,  and  went  to  the  purser  almost  in 
tears.  He  gave  the  purser  a  nugget  worth  nearly 
twenty  dollars  to  induce  him  to  get  the  dog  upon  his 
return. 

Indians  train  their  dogs  from  the  time  they  are  but 


AN   ALASKA   " CACHE." 


ALASKA  DOGS  193 

a  month  old.  They  make  a  little  harness,  and,  driv- 
ing a  peg  into  the  ground,  hitch  the  pup,  which  is  urged 
to  tug  away  at  the  peg.  The  harness  is  enlarged  from 
time  to  time.  When  six  or  seven  months  old,  they  are 
put  with  older  dogs  to  draw  a  sled  for  a  little  trip.  At 
a  year  they  are  regularly  used.  Brought  up  in  harness 
almost  from  birth,  the  pups  are  actually  restless  with- 
out it.  The  dogs  thus  become  strong  for  heavy  loads. 
Last  winter  a  team  of  fourteen  drew  2,500  pounds  fif- 
teen miles  over  the  ice  on  a  bobsled.  Dog  sleds  are 
lightly  but  very  strongly  made.  A  long  thong  is  tied 
to  the  front,  and  the  dogs  are  strung  along  it  far 
enough  apart  to  prevent  their  eating  one  another  up, 
which  seems  to  be  their  absorbing  ambition.  They 
retain  their  wolfish  nature  and  are  constantly  fighting. 
Sometimes  they  will  snarl  up  into  a  howling,  biting 
mass  of  accumulated  dog  which  threatens  to  overturn 
the  entire  outfit,  and  to  cause  apoplexy  in  the  enraged 
prospectors.  Then  is  the  circumambient  air  navy 
blue  with  language  unholy,  and  we  turn  sadly  away. 
Dogs  are  not  driven,  but  follow  the  man  who  runs 
ahead  through  the  snow,  while  the  other  man  steers 
the  sled  from  behind. 

At  Circle  City,  I  saw  quite  a  number  of  dogs  which 
persisted  in  crowding  about  a  doorway  dispersed 
instantly  and  seemingly  by  magic.  The  man  appeared 
but  for  a  moment  at  the  door,  and  uttered  no  word. 
"Do?  Oh,  nothing  but  shake  the  sled  harness  at  them. 
They  always  scatter  at  sight  of  that."  Yet  dogs  are 
good  travelers.  One  at  Cudahy  has  come  into  North- 
west Territory  by  the  back  door,  viz.,  via  the  Mac- 
kenzie River,  a  desolate  stretch  of  country  and  long. 
Still,  their  winter  coats  are  warm  and  heavy,  and  the 
dogs  don't  suffer.  They  will  sleep  contentedly  upon 
the  ice.  They're  used  to  it,  as  the  old  woman  who 


194        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

was  skinning  live  frogs  said.  The  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany, which  did  pioneer  business  on  the  Mackenzie  and 
the  Porcupine,  found  that  the  best  dog  for  Alaskan  needs 
was  a  cross  of  the  native  canine  with  the  Scotch  stag 
hound,  the  result  being  both  hardy  and  fleet.  By  the 
way,  a  dog  makes  a  fine  foot  stove  of  a  winter  night, 
if  he  will  stay  where  it  is  so  warm. 

One  peculiarity  of  Alaskan  dogs  is  that  they  will  not 
travel  in  the  teeth  of  a  wind.  Neither  coaxing  nor 
abuse,  not  even  food,  will  urge  them  to  it.  One  man 
told  me  of  starting  for  a  trip  of  a  couple  of  days,  tak- 
ing *  'grub ' '  for  that  time.  After  going  half  way  a  wind 
arose,  and  the  dogs  went  into  shelter  in  a  convenient 
gully,  and  with  one  accord  refused  to  stir.  The  wind 
lasted  four  days,  and  so  did  their  halt ;  food  gave  out, 
and  they  were  all  but  frozen  and  starved  before  they 
reached  their  destination. 

I  never  saw  so  many  dogs  before  in  my  life  as  I  saw 
in  Dawson.  Constantinople  is  the  only  other  city, 
surely,  that  harbors  such  packs  of  them.  In  Dawson 
a  dog  fight  excites  not  even  a  passing  glance,  unless  it 
becomes  a  partisan  affair,  or  involves  the  principal  of, 
"Love  me,  love  my  dog."  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie,  is  a 
wise  maxim  there,  too,  for  they  seem  to  realize  their 
importance  to  the  body  politic,  and  expect  you  to  step 
over  or  walk  around.  It  would  be  amusing  to  know  just 
the  number  of  canines  that  make  headquarters  at  Daw- 
son. 

Excuse  another  of  the  numerous  dog  proverbs — 
"Every  dog  has  his  day."  The  Alaskan  dog  as  a 
means  of  transportation  has  almost  lived  his,  and  must 
step  aside ;  but  this,  as  the  immortal  Rudyard  says,  is 
another  story. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

REINDEER 

Transportation  in  Alaska  will  always  be  difficult. 
Railroads  would  be  of  enormous  cost  and  little 
use,  if  built.  The  Great  Engineer  who  planned 
the  universe,  who  generates  in  His  own  heart  the 
electricity  that  enlivens  the  solar  system,  whose 
simple  thought  directs  the  engine  of  the  world, 
exhausting  its  steam  from  ten  thousand  hissing  craters, 
may  well  be  supposed  to  have  had  some  intelligent 
idea  in  providing  for  the  occupancy  of  Alaska.  The 
,  wise  seek  to  enter  into  that  plan. 

What  is  most  striking  about  the  topography  of 
Alaska?  The  great  number  of  rivers  and  their  length. 
What  animal  is  most  useful  and  best  adapted  to  life 
in  that  and  similar  countries?  The  reindeer. 

Those  two  words,  rivers  and  reindeer,  are  the  nat- 
ural solution  of  the  whole  problem. 

Lapland,  most  like  of  all  other  countries  to  Alaska, 
and  Eastern  Siberia,  contiguous  to  Alaska,  are  almost 
wholly  dependent  upon  the  reindeer  for  food,  clothing 
and  transportation.  The  tundras  of  our  great  pos- 
session would  support  10,000,000  of  these  most  valuable 
animals,  for  their  natural  food  is  the  gray  moss  which 
is  to  be  found  almost  everywhere  in  Alaska.  This 
reindeer  moss  is  a  gray  lichen  which  is  itself  edible, 
although  this  is  not  generally  known  as  it  should  be  in 
a  country  where  starvation  is  often  imminent.  Dur- 
ing a  famine,  Gustavus  III.  of  Sweden  proclaimed  the 
fact  by  royal  edict.  Boiled,  the  moss  has  a  pungent 

195 


i96        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

flavor,  and  boiled  in  reindeer  milk  it  is  said  to  be  very 
palatable. 

Caribou,  the  barbarian  of  the  family  of  the  domes- 
tic reindeer,  are  found  in  great  numbers  in  the  fast- 
nesses of  Alaska,  but  the  Eskimo  and  Indians  have 
never  subjugated  them.  The  natives  depended  upon 
their  hunting  and  fishing  for  food  and  of  late  they  have 
suffered  greatly,  for  the  steam  whalers  have  driven 
the  whale  to  distant  waters,  while  the  reckless  use  of 
firearms  by  the  natives  themselves  have  greatly  les- 
sened the  number  of  smaller  animals  upon  which  they 
depended  for  food. 

Every  year  entire  tribes  suffered  before  summer, 
and  many  actually  died  of  starvation ;  in  some  cases 
whole  villages  perished  thus.  Old  people  and  young 
children  were  killed  by  the  natives  to  save  feeding 
them.  This  practice,  though  an  old  one,  was  grow- 
ing. The  revenue  cutters  saw  much  suffering  when 
they  made  their  rounds  in  the  spring  and  the  officers 
naturally  discussed  the  situation.  Dr.  Sheldon  Jack- 
son, as  commissioner  of  education  in  Alaska,  travels  in 
the  North  upon  the  Bear.  Mr.  Townsend  of  the  fish 
commission  and  he  agreed  that  the  introduction  of 
domesticated  reindeer  from  Siberia  would  effectually 
solve  the  problem.  Dr.  Jackson  is  not  "talky"  but 
determined.  That  very  winter,  1890-1,  he  attempt- 
ed to  interest  the  government,  but  an  appropriation 
was  refused.  The  livest  thing  in  the  United  States, 
however,  the  press,  with  its  usual  perspicuity, 
took  the  matter  up,  and  a  few  newspapers  obtained 
a  small  sum  for  trying  an  experiment  which  in 
reality  was  no  experiment.  Then  the  Treasury 
department,  co-operating  with  the  Bureau  of  Edu- 
cation, tendered  the  Bear  to  transport  the  reindeer 
which  Dr.  Jackson  had  bought  in  Siberia,  to  Teller's 


REINDEER  197 

Island.  There  was  no  money  for  a  herder  so  they 
were  simply  dumped  there  and  left  for  the  winter.  In 
the  spring-  they  were  found  to  have  increased  in  num- 
bers. Sympathy  traveled  slowly,  for  it  is  a  long  way, 
literally  and  figuratively,  from  officials  in  fashionable 
Washington  to  starving  Eskimo  on  Bering  Sea,  so 
that  it  was  1893-4  before  an  appropriation  was  made 
by  the  government  for  the  extension  of  the  project, 
although  Dr.  Jackson  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge 
of  being  an  unmitigated  bore  and  crank  in  his  per- 
sistence. But  one  must  bore  a  hole  to  see  through  a 
grindstone,  and  it  takes  a  crank  to  turn  it  if  there's 
anything  to  be  ground  out.  So  it's  plain  that, 
although  others  may  have  had  the  idea  first,  perhaps, 
to  Sheldon  Jackson  belongs  the  credit  of  this  impor- 
tant enterprise.  Apples  have  fallen  from  trees  since 
they  ripened  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  millions  of 
men  have  lain  upon  the  grass  and  idly  wondered  why, 
as  they  noted  it,  but  to  Newton  belongs  the  honor  the 
question  brought. 

There  is  something  exhilarating  in  the  thought  that 
the  spirit  animating  a  good  deed  is  a  living  thing 
which  pursues  its  work  beyond  our  ken ;  that  a  great 
idea,  greatly  expressed,  suggests  to  some  hearer  a 
scope  the  speaker  never  guessed ;  that  a  noble  poem 
bears  to  some  mind  a  beauty  and  a  message  which  the 
writer  neither  saw  nor  heard ;  and  I  firmly  believe  if 
our  labor  is  such  that  we  dare  to  pray  "The  work  of  our 
hands  establish  Thou  it, "  that,  did  we  stand  but  high 
enough  to  gain  a  wider  view,  we  should  say  of  any 
soul's  faithful  work,  "He  builded  better  than  he 
knew."  So  it  was  with  the  introduction  of  the  rein- 
deer into  Alaska.  Primarily,  it  was  intended  only  to 
afford  the  starving  natives  food  and  new  industries. 
It  is  now  seen  that  comparatively  rapid  traveling  is 


198        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

made  possible  for  the  miners  which  have  since  rushed 
in,  that  food  may  exist  in  plenty  for  a  larger  popula- 
tion than  will  ever  reside  there,  and  that,  by  means  of 
relays,  mail  communications  may  be  secured  between 
the  exiled  gold  hunters  and  their  families.  The  com- 
plete isolation  throughout  eight  months  of  the  year  has 
been  until  recently  the  hardest  of  all  hardships  and 
deprivations.  The  appropriations  have  hitherto  been 
niggardly  and  obtained  with  difficulty. 

The  reindeer  have  been  necessarily  bought  in  small 
numbers,  both  from  lack  of  money  and  because  the  Si- 
berians would  not  sell  but  a  few.  In  fact,  though  it  is 
not  at  all  clear  to  me  why,  the  Russian  government  will 
not  allow  the  sale  of  reindeer  in  large  numbers  even 
to  us,  and  will  not  export  them  to  any  other  country. 
Several  times  a  native  has  said  to  Dr.  Jackson,  "No, 
I  sell  no  more  this  season.  Come  next  year.  We  will 
kill  my  father  this  winter,  when  you  come  back  I  sell 
you  his. ' '  This,  as  one  would  speak  of  ripping  up  an  old 
coat  and  giving  you  the  contents  of  its  pockets.  With 
them  it  is  not  murder.  The  old  are  useless,  they  are 
simply  mouths  which  cannot  be  filled.  None  of  them 
are  civilized  enough  to  know  the  fear  of  death ;  as  their 
fathers  died,  so  do  they.  When  an  old  man  is  to 
"shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil,"  a  day  is  set,  a  feast  pre- 
pared, and  he  himself  will  calmly  invite  you  to  it. 
Their  lives  are  not  so  pleasant,  poor  things,  that  they 
leave  with  regret.  Sometimes  they  will  make  a  double 
shuffle  of  it,  though  that  is  to  be  regretted,  for  one  feast 
serves  for  two,  like  the  deprivation  of  a  child  whose 
birthday  is  on  Christmas.  "Where  is  So-and-So?"  you 
ask  upon  your  return  to  Siberia.  "Oh,"  is  the  polite 
answer,  "we  killed  him  last  week — what  a  pity  you 
were  not  here. "  This 'is  actual,  not  a  joke.  Thinking 
of  the  dear  gray  heads  in  the  pleasantest  corners  of  our 


REINDEER  199 

homes,  however,  the  matter  appears  no  jest,  and  we 
can  but  pity  the  little  ones  who  have  missed  the  blessed- 
.  ness  of  a  grandmother. 

There  are  now  five  herds  in  Alaska  in  charge  of  Laps 
brought  over  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  the  Eskimo 
the  many  things  necessary  about  caring  for  and  train- 
ing the  deer  and  making  the  most  of  every  part.  The 
Eskimo  apprentices  have  their  shelter  and  board 
beside  two  female  deer  the  first  year,  five  the  second, 
and  ten  the  third  and  every  year  thereafter.  In  this 
way  he  is  apt,  with  the  increase,  to  start  with  about 
fifty  deer  of  his  own.  It  was  difficult  to  induce  them 
to  remain  until  this  plan  was  proposed,  for  the  native 
wished  to  return  to  his  accustomed  pursuits.  Rein- 
deer herding  requires  much  patience.  It  was  difficult, 
too,  to  obtain  the  Laps,  who  love  their  country  with 
an  exceeding  devotion  she  hardly  seems,  to  foreigners, 
to  merit,  and  who  are  timid  and  distrustful  of  strangers 
beyond  all  other  Europeans.  But  another  and  larger 
party  of  Laps  were  brought  over  with  the  reindeer 
during  the  winter — I  never  heard  of  a  Lap  settlement 
anywhere.  These  will  replace  the  homesick  ones  who 
returned  to  Lapland  with  Mr.  Kjellman.  The 
Eskimo,  too,  will  soon  train  their  own  people  to 
handle  the  reindeer.  The  herds  have  increased 
rapidly,  sixty  per  cent  in  five  years.  The  young  are 
born  in  April  and  May.  One  winter  they  were 
dropped  on  the  ice  when  the  thermometer  stood  30° 
below  and  in  half  an  hour  they  were  skipping  about 
like  lambs  in  pleasant  meadows.  They  are  very 
hardy.  Reindeer  require  no  shelter,  no  feeding,  no 
currying.  The  main  trouble  so  far  in  Alaska  has  been 
from  the  dogs  killing  the  deer,  but  they  are  being 
trained.  Deer  are  very  timid  and  not  brilliant,  their 
legs  are  slender,  and  when  frightened  they  stam- 


200        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

pede  and  break  their  legs,  like  ostriches,  and  have  to 
be  killed. 

Like  true  love,  reindeer  ask  nothing,  and  give  their 
all.  To  the  Siberians  they  are  the  most  useful  animal, 
surely,  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  world.  Lieutenant 
Cantwell  says  of  them : 

"Reindeer  furnish  milk  and  flesh  food.  The  mar- 
row and  tongue  are  delicacies ;  the  blood  and  contents 
of  the  stomach  are  mixed  for  pudding,  so  to  speak ; 
the  intestines  filled  with  tallow  make  sausages;  the 
skin  is  used  for  clothes,  tents,  ropes,  harness,  bedding, 
cords,  fish-lines,  and  the  stiff  forelegs  for  covering 
snowshoes;  the  sinew  is  dried  for  thread,  the  bones 
are  soaked  in  seal  oil  for  fuel,  the  horns  are  made  into 
household  implements,  weapons  and  sleds." 

Now  if  you  can  mention  any  part  of  hide  or  hair 
that  is  wasted,  I  can't.  As  for  additional  uses  to  the 
civilized  world,  tanned  reindeer  skin  is  prized  for  book- 
binding and  upholstering,  the  best  of  glue  is  made 
from  the  hoofs,  and  the  hair  makes  the  most  superior 
life-saving  apparatus,  being  of  extraordinary  buoy- 
ancy and  strength.  The  flesh  is  tender  and  very  pal- 
atable, the  milk  so  rich  and  thick  that  it  must  be  many 
times  diluted  before  it  can  be  drunk  at  all,  and  cheese 
made  from  it  is  superior.  The  Lap  method  of  milk- 
Ying  is  peculiar,  to  say  the  least.  Women  lasso  the 
animal,  tie  it,  and  then  suck  the  milk,  squirting  it 
into  the  milk  pail  from  their  mouths.  In  Siberia,  a 
whole  buck  costs  but  $1.50,  and  weighs  from  250  to 
280  pounds. 

As  if  all  this  were  not  enough,  reindeer  gladly  work 
for  a  living.  Their  speed  is  thrice  that  of  dogs,  and 
they  are  faster  and  more  docile  than  a  horse.  They 
travel,  too,  where  horses  could  not  go.  As  to  food, 
they  scoop  up  the  snow  several  feet  deep  with  their 
thick  snouts  and  shovel-like  horns,  seeming  to  be  able 


REINDEER  201 

to  smell  the  moss  through  the  snow.  They  eat  but 
little  at  once,  but  take  their  meals  like  a  white  man, 
three  times  a  day.  Then  they  like  a  wink  of  sleep. 
They  need  no  diversity  of  diet,  and  they  find  their 
own  food ;  it  does  not  have  to  be  carried  as  does  the 
dogs',  making  a  material  difference  in  the  weight  of 
an  outfit  for  a  long  trip.  In  summer,  reindeer  eat  any 
of  the  mosses  and  low  greens  which  cover  the  whole  of 
Alaska  with  a  verdant  carpet.  They  require  no  shelter 
even  in  the  bitterest  cold.  In  winter,  they  are  not 
even  confined,  but  they  remain  close  by  the  huts ;  in 
summer,  they  have  their  forelegs  hobbled,  as  they 
are  apt  to  nibble  along  too  far.  They  have  none 
of  the  vices  and  all  of  the  virtues  of  the  burro,  virtues 
4 'to  burn,"  besides.  Mr.  Kjellman,  superintendent  of 
Teller  station,  says  that  when  idle,  he  has  known  rein- 
deer to  be  practically  without  food  for  two  weeks  with- 
out harm.  He  has  never  known  any  to  freeze  except 
a  deer  that  was  caught  between  rocks,  though  even  the 
reindeer  didn't  enjoy  a  whole  week  they  spent  on  a 
long  trip  when  it  was  73°  below  zero.  The  deer  kept 
them  all  awake  running  round  and  round  the  tent. 
Think  of  it,  a  tent,  and  such  weather!  This  was  the 
most  remarkable  trip  ever  made  by  reindeer.  Mr. 
Kjellman  started  from  Point  Clarence,  near  Bering 
Strait,  December  15,  1896,  and  traveled  a  thousand 
miles  across  a  trackless  country,  over  mountains  and 
tundras,  frozen  rivers  and  great  glaciers,  to  the  valley 
of  the  Kuskokwim,  and  back  by  April  25,  1897, 
to  obtain  mail,  accompanied  only  by  two  Laps, 
Mik-kel  Nakkela  and  Pehr  Rist.  It  is  one  of  the 
marvelous  journeys  of  the  world,  and  if  William 
Kjellman  were  not  one  of  the  most  modest  as  well  as 
most  daring  of  men,  he  would  be  posing  as  a  hero  with 
Nansen  and  Peary.  Of  his  own  achievements  it  is 


202        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

almost  impossible  to  make  him  speak.  When  I  asked 
him  about  this  wonderful  trip  of  whose  like  the  world 
has  never  known,  he  replied  that  there  was  nothing 
particular  to  tell.  "But  strange  things  must  have  hap- 
pened, you  must  have  suffered  much,"  I  persisted. 
"Oh  no,"  he  answered,  "the  journey  was  not  extra- 
ordinary, only  long. ' '  Yet,  being  with  him  for  two  or 
three  weeks,  I  succeeded  in  picking  up  bits  which 
proved  it  to  be  what  I  have  asserted,  one  of  the 
heroic  trips  of  the  world. 

For  a  whole  week  the  temperature  was  73°  below 
zero,  but  Kjellman  concealed  the  fact  from  his  com- 
panion for  fear  he  would  think  it  too  cold  to  travel. 
They  had  no  firewood  when  they  stopped,  for  at  the 
time  they  were  crossing  a  tundra.  So  they  broke  up 
what  sleighs  they  could  spare.  Strangely  enough,  the 
other  felt  chilly  in  spite  of  not  knowing  what  the  ther- 
mometer indicated  and  Kjellman  inquired,  "What's 
the  matter  with  you,  anyway?  You  must  be  ill — mak- 
ing such  a  fuss  about  cold  and  wearing  that  extra 
parka.  Why  I  went  without  a  cap  when  the  reindeer 
stampeded.  You  better  take  a  dose  of  quinine,  you're 
out  of  gear. ' ' 

Being  in  new  country  they  didn't  avoid  a  mossless 
tract,  and  they  had  carried  none  for  their  reindeer,  so 
they  traveled  constantly  for  four  days  and  nights  with- 
out sleep,  endeavoring  to  save  the  deer,  and  con- 
sequently, themselves.  Five  of  the  thirteen  deer 
dropped  dead  with  hunger  and  exhaustion,  and  the 
others  could  not  have  held  out  much  longer  when  the 
scooping  up  of  the  snow  announced  succor  at  hand.  Yet 
this  was  too  small  a  matter  to  be  readily  recalled,  this 
peril  of  death  under  a  pitiless  sky,  hundreds  of  miles 
from  another  human  being,  and  in  the  midst  of  an  awful 
silence.  It  makes  me  shudder  even  to  think  of  it. 


REINDEER  203 

At  the  *  *  End  of  the  Mountain, ' '  as  the  natives  call  the 
last  of  the  highlands  which  terminate  193  miles  from 
St.  Michael,  the  wind  rose  to  a  shrieking  gale.  This 
place  is  noted  for  that.  "I  do  think  it's  the  worst  spot 
on  the  globe  for  wind, ' '  said  Mr.  Kjellman.  The  Indi- 
ans call  it  "The  Home  of  the  Winds."  From  all  I 
hear,  it  must  be  the  land  office  of  Eolus,  dealer  in 
winds,  who,  having  been  in  business  since  the  days  of 
Homer,  ought  to  be  able  to  turn  out  a  pretty  stiff 
article  of  breeze  by  this  time.  It  had  blown  the  snow 
quite  off  the  rugged  mountain,  and  so  it  began  on  the 
party,  by  sweeping  one  reindeer  off  the  mountain  side. 
"We  could  find  no  shelter  and  could  not  stand  the 
fury  of  the  gale,  so  we  lay  flat  down  on  the  mountain, 
thrust  our  big  hunting  knives  into  the  ground  between 
the  rocks,  and  clung  to  their  handles  by  main  force  the 
livelong  night.  It  was  hard  work,  too,"  Mr.  Kjellman 
ended  simply.  This  was  another  trifling  incident  of 
the  memorable  trip  which  had  almost  escaped  his  mind. 
It  affected  me  strangely  as  he  told  it ;  the  blackness 
of  darkness,  the  roar  of  the  blast,  the  desperate  cling- 
ing to  their  knives  as  they  hid  themselves  from  the 
storm-king  upon  the  earth  which  soon  might  cover 
them ;  it  was  truly  dramatic. 

At  Anvik,  even  his  stout  frame  began  to  quail  under 
the  continual  strain,  and  Kjellman  threw  himself  upon 
the  ground  in  an  Indian's  hut  and  declared  he  was  sick. 
The  squaw  took  various  medicinal  roots,  braided  them, 
steeped,  and  gave  the  decoction  to  him  to  drink.  "It 
cured  me  on  the  spot,"  laughed  Kjellman,  "it  was  the 
worst  stuff  ever  compounded  since  Macbeth's  witches 
brewed  their  potions.  I  recovered  in  sheer  self-defense, 
for  the  squaw  threatened  me  with  another  dose. ' ' 

The  Laps  had  steadily  asserted  that  a  deer  could  not 
be  driven  more  than  five  or  six  days  at  a  time,  at  a 


204        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

speed  of  forty  miles  a  day,  and  then  have  a  rest  of  at 
least  six  weeks  before  going  on.  This  was  shown  to  be 
a  fairy  story,  for  the  deer  were  driven  every  day  on  this 
two-thousand-mile  trip.  One  from  the  station  said, 
"To  see  what  the  deer  could  stand,  I  took  two  sleds 
and  three  deer,  went  along  the  river  around  the  White 
Mountains,  and  made  a  distance  of  close  to  100  miles 
in  one  run.  The  deer  were,  too,  very  poor,  having 
worked  hard  most  of  the  winter,  and  one  trained  only 
this  spring."  Mr.  Kjellman  broke  all  previous  rein- 
deer records  by  making  95  miles  in  one  day.  This 
demonstrates  the  value  of  reindeer  for  transportation 
purposes.  No  wonder  that  Santa  Claus,  having  so 
much  ground  to  cover  in  a  single  night,  chooses  rein- 
deer in  preference  even  to  winged  horses.  There's 
always  a  basis  of  sense,  depend  upon  it,  to  all  our 
ancient  lore.  So  many,  many  "  Christmas  trees"  stand 
ready  along  the  Yukon,  but  nuggets  do  not  ornament 
them  fitly.  Many  a  successful  miner,  sitting  in  his 
lonely  cabin  at  the  goodwill  season,  would  "gladly  sell 
his  mine  for  a  song,  a  Christmas  song,  if  only  the  rein- 
deer would  bear  him  beside  dear  old  Santa  Claus  to  his 
own  rooftree.  For  in  loneliness  of  spirit  he  has 
learned  that  the  gold  of  highest  assay  is  the  hair  of  his 
little  child,  while  the  dust  before  the  home  door  is 
richer  than  all  that  piled  up  in  Dawson. 

Reindeer  travel  better  by  dark  than  daylight,  as  they 
are  very  timid  and  all  keep  together  following  the  fast- 
est. They  never  walk — don't  seem  to  know  how  to, 
but  trot  rapidly  and  constantly.  They  never  pace,  and 
have  a  most  peculiar  gait,  throwing  their  hind  legs  out 
beyond  their  fore  legs  and  hunching  their  shoulders 
sideways.  It  would  make  me  seasick  to  ride  one. 
They  sometimes,  when  traveling  at  full  speed,  skim 
their  snouts  along  the  snow  and  scoop  up  a  mouthful, 


REINDEER  205 

like  a  locomotive  taking  up  water  in  passage.  Rein- 
deer driving  must  be  most  exhilarating.  They  go 
straight  ahead,  over  any  obstacle,  up  hill  and  down 
dale  with  a  determination  to  "get  there"  worthy  of  a 
ward  politician,  which  reminds  me  of  Dr.  Jackson's 
experience.  It  was  a  dismal,  drizzly  day,  and  the  six 
miles  back  to  the  cutter  seemed  to  stretch  into  sixty. 
He  decided  to  ride  back  on  a  sled  over  the  wet  and 
slippery  tundra.  With  a  Lap  at  the  head  of  each 
deer,  for  the  reindeer  were  fresh,  to  steady  them,  he 
started.  There  was  a  little  ravine  ahead,  perhaps  ten 
feet  wide ;  the  deer  took  matters  into  their  own  hands 
by  leaping  across.  Now  the  worthy  doctor  is  not  a 
rider  to  hounds,  besides,  the  reindeer  had  not  informed 
him  that  they  meant  to  "take  the  ditch,"  so  they  and 
their  reverend  driver  parted  company  hurriedly,  and 
without  words  of  farewell.  The  doctor  turned  a  fan- 
tastic somersault  in  no  wise  comporting  with  the  dignity 
of  the  moderator  of  the  Presbyterian  assembly — the 
onlookers  insist  it  was  a  double  somersault — and  landed 
unhurt,  but  greatly  surprised,  on  some  bushes  in  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine.  Decidedly,  it  gave  him  quite  a 
turn.  "Now doctor,"  said  I,  when  he  told  me  about  it, 
"honestly,  I  won't  tattle,  but  was  your  language 
seemly  to  one  of  your  cloth?"  "I  made  no  remarks 
whatever,"  he  replied,  "I  was  bereft  of  speech  or 
breath  to  frame  it.  The  young  lieutenant  who  had 
accompanied  me  from  the  Bear  just  threw  himself 
down  in  a  transport  and  howled.  As  soon  as  I  got 
together  enough  fragments  of  breath  to  join  in,  I  did 
so.  It  was  one  of  the  funniest  things  I  ever  saw,  if 
the  joke  was  on  myself." 

In  Finland,  Mr.  Kjellman  has  seen  horses  and  rein- 
deer race  against  each  other.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
best  man.  In  Norway,  horses  wear  snowshoes,  but  no 


206        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

one  seems  to  have  attempted  that  in  Alaska.  These 
snowshoes  are  made  of  roots  about  the  size  of  a  lead 
pencil,  curved  the  size  of  a  chair  bottom.  In  Siberia, 
north  of  the  Amour  and  in  Kamchatka,  reindeer  are 
saddled  over  the  shoulders  and  ridden.  They  carry 
heavy  packs,  but  around  Bering  Strait  this  has  never 
been  done,  and  although  the  deer  are  strong  to  draw, 
they  sink  to  their  knees  if  even  a  small  man  mounts 
them. 

Reindeer  are  hitched  to  one  trace,  with  a  simple 
harness  over  the  shoulders  and  straps  outside  to  the 
belly  band.  There  is  neither  halter  nor  bit ;  they  are 
driven  with  one  line  or  two.  The  deer  spring  so  ea- 
gerly that  the  sleds  are  made  wide  and  short.  An 
ordinary  load  is  two  hundred  pound  to  a  deer,  and  forty 
miles  a  day  the  average  easy  travel.  At  Port  Clar- 
ence, one  of  the  important  reindeer  stations,  there  is 
no  wood  for  fifteen  miles  around.  All  the  fuel  was 
hauled  that  distance  by  them.  Two  deer  were  hitched 
to  a  log  laid  upon  two  sleds  and  easily  brought  it  to 
the  station,  though  one  log  measured  seventy-two  feet 
by  eighteen  inches.  At  Port  Clarence  alone,  eighteen 
deer  have  been  broken  to  drive. 

While  we  were  at  St.  Michael,  Dr.  Jackson  received 
the  1897  reports  from  his  reindeer  stations,  and  very 
kindly  allowed  me  to  read  them,  and  take  down  what 
I  wished.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  one 
written  at  Golovin  Bay,  about  100  miles  north  of  St. 
Michael's  Island.  It  is  intersting  in  matter  and  quaint 
in  its  foreign  English,  which  I  quote  verbatim : 

44  The  consistence  of  herders  has  been  three  Eski- 
mo besides  the  Laplander  family.  They  all  lived  in 
tent  during  summer.  In  the  fall  we  had  a  house 
erected  in  the  woods  where  they  have  lived  during 
winter,  compared  with  tent,  very  comfortable.  I 


REINDEER  207 

made  a  large  sheet  iron  stove.  (One  learns  to  use  his 
hands  in  Alaska.)  The  Lap  many  times  expressed 
his  desire  to  be  able  to  have  it  so  comfortable  at  home 
in  Lapland.  (Great  heavens,  what  an  ideal !)  We  have 
ourselves  made  two  trips  for  birchwood  this  winter 
and  hauled  some  logs  overland  from  Chiucuk,  two  trips 
to  Port  Clarence  and  at  least  two  trips  a  week  have 
been  made  between  the  herding  camp  and  station, 
twenty  miles  away,  to  obtain  provisions  and  reports 
from  the  herd." 

(What  a  winter  of  wild  dissipation  and  gadding  they 
have  passed.     Dr.  Jackson  should  put  an  end  to  this.) 
He  goes  on  to  say: 

"We  have  four  trained  Lap  dogs,  but  they  are  unfor- 
tunately all  females,  so  we  have  no  view  of  any  increase 
of  that  kind.  The  Lap  sold  one  male  puppy,  and  to 
play  a  trick  he  took  the  other  along  with  him." 

Reindeer  are  now  loaned  to  the  missions  in  herds  of 
fifty  for  three  years.  The  increase  are  retained  by  the 
missions.  This  will  be  of  great  benefit. 

Some  reindeer  have  stone-colored  coats  with  beards, 
like  buffaloes,  growing  down  their  breasts  in  truly  pa- 
triarchal style;  these  of  gray.  Others  are  spotted, 
quaker  gray  and  white,  and  the  hair  'is  thick  and  soft. 
If  the  animal  is  killed  in  early  fall,  the  pelt  will  retain 
the  hair,  otherwise  it  will  soon  come  out  in  tufts. 
These  skins  make  pretty  rugs.  They  are  tanned  in 
a  peculiar  way,  by  being  chewed  all  over  the  skin  by 
the  Eskimo  women,  who  make  them  into  their  Sun- 
day-go-to-meeting gowns,  or  parkas.  The  most  highly 
prized  for  attire,  though,  are  taken  from  unborn  rein- 
deer. These  skins  are  made  into  beautiful  garments, 
for  the  Eskimo  are  really  expert  furriers.  I  have 
one  of  these  parkas.  The  slrin  is  as  soft  as  velvet, 
points  of  some  close  white  fur  are  set  neatly  in  for 
collars,  and  a  wolfskin  fringe  protects  the  face  and 


THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

makes  a  pretty  edge  to  the  hood.  It's  just  the  thing 
for  sleighriding  and  very  handsome,  though  rather  con- 
spicuous. These  skins  are  traded  to  the  Alaskan  Eski- 
mo by  the  Siberian  brethren  or  the  officers  of  the 
Bear,  and  are  in  great  demand  among  Indians  who 
can  afford  them  up  the  Yukon. 

W.  A.  Kjellman,  by  the  way,  is  a  character.  He  is 
a  tall,  broad,  brawny,  handsome  Norwegian,  with 
bluest  of  eyes  shaded  by  heavy  lashes,  and  blackest  of 
hair  and  beard,  which,  when  in  the  wilds  he  wears  in  a 
wavy  mass,  but  in  his  occasional  visits  to  civilization 
pompadour  as  to  hair,  and  pointed  as  to  beard,  like  a 
Frenchman.  He  has  traveled  most  of  the  cold  world 
over,  but  does  not  like  warm  climates.  He  has  been 
in  charge  of  the  Teller  reindeer  station  for  three  years. 
Mr.  Kjellman  (his  name  is  pronounced  Shellman,  by 
the  way)  speaks  Norwegian;  Lap,  Malamute,  Eskimo, 
English,  and  as  a  finish,  Finnish.  You  can  tell  by  the 
look  of  him  that  he's  strong  as  an  ox.  He  can  get 
an  appetite  for  breafast  by  a  little  run  of  fourteen  or 
fifteen  miles  on  the  skis,  he  can  skate  as  a  swallow 
skims,  swim  like  a  fish,  and  sail  a  boat  with  an 
admiral.  One  time  in  Norway,  when  only  a  lad,  he 
was  three  times  upset  in  the  icy  fiord  in  a  morning,  so 
stormy  was  it  He  looks  like  a  typical  Viking,  except 
for  the  boast  and  swagger  we  associate  with  those  of  eld. 
A  relative  of  his,  also  named  Kjellman,  was  with  Nor- 
densjold  when  he  discovered  the  Northwest  Passage. 

Mr.  Kjellman's  home  is  in  Wisconsin,  at  least  his 
wife  and  two  children  reside  there.  His  baby  girl  was 
fourteen  months  old  before  he  knew  she  was  born,  and 
he  didn't  know  her  name  till  he  saw  her  last  -fall  on 
his  way  to  Lapland.  In  his  home  are  stores  of  valu- 
able curios,  one  room  being  stocked  with  them,  for 
Mr.  Kjellman  is  a  keen  observer  upon  his  wide  travels. 

\ 


REINDEER      >»,  209 

Among  other  things  he  has  a  unique  and  very  valua- 
ble spoon  made  entirely  of  jade,  which  he  obtained -in 
Siberia.  There  also  he  bought  a  string  of  curious  dark 
blue  beads,  which  are  so  highly  valued  by  the  natives 
that  he  with  difficulty  secured  the  string  for  $43,  one 
bead  costing  $18.  This,  to  them,  is  as  great  a  price  as 
that  paid  for  the  famous  Portland  vase.  He  has  a  belt 
made  of  two  thousand  reindeer  teeth,  a  wonderful 
piece  of  ivory  puppet  carving,  of  which  more  anon,  a 
cap  made  entirely  of  muskrat  tails,  another  formed  of 
the  flippers  of  seal  pups.  He  brought  his  wife  a  cu- 
rious fur  carpet  12x14  feet,  upon  which  an  Eskimo 
woman  worked  all  winter  at  Port  Clarence.  It  contains 
nine  hundred  pieces  of  fur,  alternately  light  and  dark, 
cut  diamond-shaped,  and  sewed  with  reindeer  sinew. 
The  border,  ten  inches  wide,  is  of  squares.  There  are 
selected  skins  from  all  the  fur-bearing  animals  to  be 
found  on  land  or  sea  which  Mr.  Kjellman  has  traversed. 
This  carpet  is  not  only  unique,  but  very  handsome. 
He  presented  little  Serene  with  a  Siberian  cap  of  light 
colored  fur  made  entirely  of  the  skin  from  the  paws, 
which  gives  it  a  pretty,  wavy  look.  To  me  he  gave  a 
silvery  " leopard  seal"  skin  and  a  large  seal- thong 
seine,  with  which  the  natives  catch  anything,  from  a 
smelt  to  a  seal,  or  even  a  white  whale. 

Mr.  Kjellman  is  the  right  man  in  the  right  place 
evidently,  and  should  be  connected  with  the  United 
States  Ethnological  Bureau,  which,  by  the  way,  under 
the  able  direction  of  Major  Powell,  is  doing  an  invalu- 
able service  to  this  country  in  obtaining  and  preserving 
the  myths  and  history  of  our  passing  peoples.  There's 
nothing  Mr.  Kjellman  enjoys  more  than  exploring  new 
countries  and  studying  new  peoples,  which  his  lin- 
guistic attainments  render  comparatively  easy.  He  is 
now  anxious  to  penetrate  the  interior  between  Point 


210        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Barrow  and  Norton  Sound,  where,  the  coast  Eskimo 
say,  live  a  tribe  who  still  use  nothing  but  stone  im- 
plements, have  never  seen  a  white  man,  and  will  be 
well  worth  a  careful  study.  Would  I  could  accompany 
him! 

In  this  connection,  W.  S.  Phillips  has  done  much 
toward  preserving-  myths  and  information  about  the 
tribes  of  Southeast  Alaska  and  the  coast  Indians  in  his 
" Totem  Tales."  Mr.  Phillips  speaks  their  language 
and  so  obtains  his  stories  first-handed,  and  illustrates 
them  himself. 


jt 


' 


CHAPTER  XV 

SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT 

"But  I  did  not  know  Dr.  Jackson  was  dead!" 
Nor  is  he,  yet  he  has  long  been  building  his  monu- 
ment of  living  stones,  quarried  and  squared  after  the 
fashion  of  those  composing  the  walls  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem. To  a  man  who  departs  this  life  leaving  noth- 
ing but  his  money,  it  is  fitting  that  the  heir  erect  a 
goodly  shaft,  else  would  his  very  name  perish  from 
the  earth;  the  lower,  more  sensual,  more  selfish  the 
life,  the  higher,  more  chaste  the  marble,  the  lovelier 
the  figure  of  Charity  at  its  top.  The  granite  block 
over  many  a  grave  is  not  colder  nor  harder  than  was 
the  heart  of  him  who  lies  beneath,  nor  more  highly 
polished  than  the  manners  which  served  only  to  reflect 
self,  that  self  "with  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence," 
though  the  stone  records  virtues  at  which  the  skull 
below  grins,  and  grief  at  which  it  sneers.  Though 
costing  enough  to  build  a  shelter  for  hundreds  of 
homeless  children,  one  of  the  marble  houses  fronting 
the  Fifth  Avenue  of  Death  is  very  small  compared  to 
that  wherein  the  family  live  uptown.  Yet  'tis  large 
enough,  for 

"They  do  neither  feast  nor  wed 
In  the  city  of  the  dead, 
In  the  city  where  they  sleep  away  the  hours." 

She  was  a  society  leader.  'Tis  only  her  bo'dy 
that  takes  room  in  this  abode,  her  soul  could  be 
lost  at  sea  in  a  single  tear.  But  dear  me,  souls 
are  horribly  passte.  In  death  as  in  life,  however, 

211 


:- £•;;•/•         •.'•.•',-..;  :', 

?''-"'.  '   "'••'•      ''•'        :    •'  '    •  • 

212        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

she  is  exclusive.  Her  stately  charnel  house  scorns 
the  cheap  little  stone  in  the  hollow  which  bears  upon 
the  lintel  of  her  last  lowly  home,  the  simple  name, 
* 4  Mother. "  In  Greenwood,  a  mausoleum  costing 
$400,000  is  now  nearly  completed.  It  will  be  heated 
and  lighted  by  electricity,  yet  the  corpse  will  lie  as 
cold  and  dark  as  if  he  were  only  a  slum  child  trying 
to  sleep  on  the  stones  of  an  alley.  At  the  jeweled  altar 
a  priest  will  minister  who  might  better  be  going  into 
the  highways  and  byways  and  compelling  them  to  come 
in,  into  this  exquisite  tomb  to  get  warmed  with  all  this 
$400,000  worth  of  beauty. 

Even  the  costly  bronze  statue  erected  to  a  hero 
serves  rather  to  memorialize  the  money  of  the  man 
who  seeks  mainly  to  cut  his  own  name  upon  the  pedi- 
ment, and  who  poses  as  an  admirer  of  a  man  whose 
aims,  in  life,  he  would  have  decried  as  visionary,  fool- 
hardy or  Quixotic. 

From  all  the  hypocrisy,  ostentation  and  waste  of  a 
fashionable  cemetery — yea,  even  cemeteries  become 
modish  and  are  patronized  by  "our  very  best  people," 
even  the  marble  angels  on  the  monuments  hide  their 
faces  or  point  up  and  away  from  it  all,  while  the  real 
angels  veil  their  faces  with  their  wings  as  they  pass. 
They  know  that  "our  very  best  people"  more  likely 
lie  low  in  the  grasses  of  the  potter's  field,  at  a  fork  in 
the  roads  where  the  suicide  is  impaled,  or  even  in.  the 
jail  yards. 

It  was  not  of  such  monuments  I  thought  when  I 
spoke  of  Sheldon  Jackson's,  and  the  inscription  is  as 
fitting  now  as  it  will  be  when  the  final  date  can  be 
added;  the  first  is  1834.  It  was  in  that  year  that  a 
baby  in  a  New  York  town  started  the  world  well  by 
being  well  born,  for  until  men  cease  breeding  fine 
stock  and  horses,  it  is  absurd  to  deny  that  blood  tells. 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      213 

Sheldon's  maternal  grandfather  was  an  eminent 
physician  who  served  six  terms  as  the  speaker  of  the 
New  York  state  assembly  and  the  last  who  wore  the 
official  cocked  hat.  He  was  a  man  of  affairs,  and 
regent  of  the  University.  The  paternal  grandfather 
was  the  associate  of  De  Witt  Clinton  in  building  the 
Erie  Canal  and  one  of  its  commissioners.  Sheldon 
graduated  from  Union  College,  Schenectady,  and  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  at  twenty-four.  He 
graduated,  took  orders  and  married  all  in  one  week ;  it 
was  "commencement"  indeed  of  a  busy  life.  He 
wished  to  go  to  Siam  or  to  Bogota,  South  America,  but 
the  board  considered  him  lacking  in  physique,  so  they 
appointed  him  instead  missionary  to  Indian  Territory 
where,  after  a  year,  he  succumbed  to  malaria,  and  was 
removed  to  the  home  mission  field  of  Wisconsin  and 
Minnesota,  then  frontier.  I  think  that  board  would 
be  rather  surprised  to  see  him  now  after  just  forty 
y ears'" sefvice~compared  to  which  Siam's  would  have 
been  being  "carried  to  the  skies  on  flowery  beds  of 
ease."  He  can  endure  more  hardship,  travel,  hard 
work  and  exposure  this  minute  than  half  the  college 
football  players,  and  he  looks  ten  years  younger  than 
his  sixty-four  years.  After  five  years'  missionary 
work  he  was  appointed  to  a  pastorate  in  Rochester, 
Minnesota,  where  he  remained  another  five,  serving 
upon  the  Christian  commission  in  the  hospitals  of  Ala- 
bama and  Tennessee  in  the  fall  of  1863.  Next  he 
was  put  in  charge  of  all  the  mission  work  west  of  Mis- 
souri, except  Kansas.  Sheldon  Jackson  is  a  worker. 
I  have  traveled  with  him  for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  I 
have  never  seen  him  idle  for  a  minute.  He  never 
hurries,  but  just  persists.  Evidently  he  was  always  so. 
Within  three  days  after  his  appointment  to  this  wide 
field,  and  the  one  railroad  into  it  was  not  yet  open,  he 


2i4        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

had  missionaries  on  the  way,  and  that  year  he  traveled 
over  20,000  miles  establishing  churches  and  encourag- 
ing schools.  A  year  later  he  was  appointed  superin- 
tendent of  missions  from  Canada  to  Mexico.  There 
were  no  railroads,  his  journeys  were  taken  horseback, 
on  lumbering  stagecoaches,  prairie  schooners,  or  creak- 
ing oxcarts;  through  pelting  sleet,  fierce  blizzards, 
drenching  rains  and  burning  winds;  over  rugged 
mountains,  monotonous  prairies,  glaring  deserts  and 
swollen  torrents.  He  slept  where  he  could,  ate  what 
he  could  get  and  worked  steadily.  He  averaged 
.15,000  miles  a  year  of  this  sort  of  thing.  One  year  it 
reached  37,000.  Once  he  traveled  three  hundred  miles 
on  a  Mexican  oxcart  with  slices  of  trees  for  wheels,  the 
most  execrable  vehicle  in  the  world.  It  seems  to  me 
I'd  prefer  being  an  old  style  martyr,  and  be  drawn  and 
quartered.  All  this  time  his  salary  was  the  pittance 
doled  out  to  "spiritual  circuit-riders. "  He  is  a  most 
domestic  man,  yet  he  could  seldom  visit  his  family 
who  had  removed  to  Denver  to  be  somewhere  near  him. 
Nor  were  perils  from  men  wanting.  Indians  fired 
into  the  steamer  upon  which  he  traveled  on  the  upper 
Missouri.  Once  he  escaped  by  only  a  few  hours  from 
the  murderous  Apache  on  the  warpath.  But  the  most 
exciting  of  all  his  experiences  was  the  narrow  escape 
of  himself  and  his  wife  from  both  Apaches  and  Mexi- 
cans when  they  went  to  get  some  Indian  children-  to. 
take  to  school.  They  traveled  a  hundred  miles  on  a 
construction  train,  for  the  Union  Pacific  was  not  com- 
pleted, and  entered  a  little  border  town  where  all  the 
population  were  aroused  and  most  of  them  drunk. 
Four  Mexicans,  horribly  mutilated  by  the  Apaches, 
had  just  been  brought  in  dead,  and  the  " greasers" 
swore  Dr.  Jackson  should  not  take  the  "devils'  brats" 
away.  They  should  die.  He  telegraphed  for  a  loco- 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      215 

motive  to  bear  them  off,  but  there  was  none  to  be  had. 
He  tried  to  induce  the  train  men  to  start  at  once. 
This  they  would  not  do.  All  they  would  do  was  to 
run  the  train  into  the  yards.  He  locked  the  doors, 
and  they  lay  flat  on  the  floor,  listening  with  palpita- 
ting hearts  to  the  howling  of  an  enraged  mob  of  fully 
four  hundred  drunken  Mexicans,  and  expecting  to 
end  their  mission  at  the  hands  of  the  maddened  brutes. 
But  they  were  not  found,  and  two  hours  after  they  had 
left  their  immediate  danger  behind.  All  this  takes 
genuine  courage,  and  Dr.  Jackson  is  a  small  man,  not 
physically  strong. 

For  ten-  years,  from  1869  to  1880,  he  edited  and 
published  the  Rocky  Mountain  Presbyterian.  When 
I  once  asked  Dr.  Jackson  if  he  had  written  any  poems 
or  hymns,  he  replied  that  he  believed  that  if  his  life 
were  the  stake  he  could  not  compose  a  single  couplet 
of  the  veriest  doggerel.  But  he  has  always  written 
much  for  publications  of  all  kinds,  and  has  been  bur- 
dened with  wide  correspondence,  constant  preaching 
and  lecturing,  and  conferences  of  all  kinds. 

In  1879  Dr.  Jackson  was  instrumental  in  organizing 
the  Woman's  executive  committee.  Like  most  men 
who  have  had  helpful  wives,  he  has  the  greatest 
respect  for  progressive  women.  Of  his  four  children 
but  two,  daughters,  lived.  One  of  them,  Delia  Shel- 
don Jackson;  is  a  lawyer,  and  the  younger,  Elizabeth 
Leslie  Jackson,  is  an  artist,  who,  by  the  way,  made  a 
careful  study  of  the  flora  of  Alaska,  and  painted  hun- 
dreds of  watercolor  studies,  the  first  work  of  the  kind 
done  for  Alaska. 

In  1880,  Dr.  Jackson  was  sent  to  Alaska  as  superin- 
tendent of  missions  to  natives  sunk  in  the  grossest  su- 
perstition. He  frequently  went  East,  where  the  govern- 
ment found  him  most  valuable  in  suggesting  plans  and 


216        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

giving  information  about  our  possessions  there.  He 
had  for  some  time  urged  the  matter  of  better  con- 
ditions when  in  Washington,  but  it  was  not  till  Benja- 
min Harrison,  a  friend  of  his,  was  appointed  to  the 
Senate  Committee  on  Territories  that  the  desired  enact- 
ments were  passed  giving  Alaska  limited  territorial 
government  and  some  very  limited  educational  advan- 
tages. Funds  for  the  latter  were  so  meager  that  Dr. 
Jackson  suggested  a  religious  conference,  which  was 
held  in  New  York,  to  apportion  the  districts  for  denom- 
inational schools.  The  Commissioner  of  the  Bureau 
of  Education  consulted  Dr.  Jackson,  naturally,  at  every 
turn,  and  in  1885  the  latter  was  appointed  United 
States  Commissioner  of  Education  in  Alaska.  With  his 
usual  sense  and  promptness,  he  started  at  once  to 
organize  schools  at  all  important  points,  and  to  Chris- 
tianize and  educate  the  natives,  whom  the  Russians  had 
sought  to  kill  off  by  tribes  by  introducing  small-pox 
among  the  Indians.  Dr.  Jackson's  work  in  Sitka  and 
throughout  Southeastern  Alaska  is  little  short  of 
wonderful.  He  established  The  North  Star  at  Sitka 
in  1887,  built  a  church  and  founded  an  industrial  train- 
ing school.  A  man  of  learning,  he  saw  the  value  of 
the  preservation  of  the  customs,  traditions  and  history 
of  the  Indians  and  their  country,  and  organized  the 
Alaskan  Society  of  Natural  History  and  Ethnology  at 
Sitka,  and  erected  a  museum  there.  In  every  way  this 
quiet,  unassuming,  clear-sighted  man  has  influenced 
for  good  and  for  progress  the  development  of  Alaska. 
He  has  steadily  opposed  the  introduction  of  liquor 
among  the  natives,  the  profligacy  of  the  whites  in  their 
treatment  of  native  women,  and  the  incompetent  and 
grasping  officials  that  have  been  a  disgrace  to  the 
administration.  He  is  therefore  most  cordially  hated 
by  many  people  in  Alaska,  and  has  been .  subjected  to 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      217 

numerous  annoyances,  even  to  being  imprisoned  oa  a 
silly  charge  in  Sitka.     He  can  afford  to  disregard  all 
this,  with  such  success  as  has  attended  his  work  con- 
fronting him.     Look,  for  instance,  at  that  full-blooded 
Indian  from  Sitka' s  school,  Edward  Morrison,  who  has 
graduated  from    Marietta  College,    Ohio,  and    Lane 
Theological  Seminary,  Cincinnati.    While  studying  for 
the  ministry,  he  also  studied  law  and  was  admitted  to 
preach  and  to  practice — excuse  the  pun — at  the  same 
time  when  but  twenty-four  years  old.     He  is  an  intel- 
lectual giant,  yet,  like  Nehemiah  of  old,  "works  with 
both  hands  earnestly. "     He  has  thoroughly  mastered 
several    trades,   is   a  carpenter,   shoemaker,   cooper, 
and  musician.     He  composes,  and  adapts  scores  from 
piano  to  cornet.     He  played  at  the  World's  Columbian 
Exposition.      Like  a  Japanese  he  watches  and  tries 
everything.  This  Spring  he  will  go  to  the  tribes  at  Cape 
Fox  and  Fort  Tongas.     Then  there  is  Henry  Phillips 
from  Juneau,  who  is  an  expert  machinist,  can  construct 
a  locomotive  and  run  it     Such  are  the  living  stones 
which  build  an  enduring    monument.      Dr.  Jackson 
regrets  that  he  is  no  linguist  and  feels  that  he  might, 
personally,  have  learned  so  much  more  of  the  peoples 
among  whom  he  has  worked  if  he  could  speak  their 
languages.     The  most  proficient  in  this  regard  among 
his  workers,  he  says,  is  Mrs.  E.  S.  Willard,  who,  with 
her  husband,  labored  for  twelve  years  among  the  Indi- 
ans near  Sitka,  and  talks  Thlinget  perfectly.     She  is 
now  in  Chicago  studying  dentistry. 

"The  Presbyterian  Training  School  is  the  *  City  of 
Refuge  '  for  those  fleeing  from  death — the  *  House  of 
Hope  '  to  those  sitting  in  the  habitations  of  cruelty — the 
*  House  of  Help  '  to  the  starving,  homeless,  friendless 
waif — an  asylum  to  the  escaped  slave — the  protector 
of  helpless  girlhood. 


2i8        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

A  few  years  ago  a  little  girl  was  accused  of  witchcraft. 
The  tribe  bound  her  with  a  rope.  A  stalwart  chief, 
holding  one  end  of  the  rope,  walked  in  advance,  drag- 
ging the  child  after  him,  while  another  came  behind 
holding  the  other  end  of  the  rope.  These  men  were 
the  admiration  of  the  tribe  for  their  bravery  in  holding 
between  t^em  a  puny,  starved  girl  of  ten.  She  was 
rescued  by  Professor  Austin,  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
school,  and  given  a  home.  A  girl  of  fourteen,  when 
about  to  be  sold  into  a  life  of  sin,  for  the  benefit  of  a 
distant  relative,  escaped  from  her  grandmother  who 
was  guarding  her,  and  found  a  refuge  in  the  school. 
Another,  a  girl  of  about  seventeen,  was  being  sold 
for  similar  purposes  by  her  stepmother  and  aunt.  The 
two  women,  quarreling  over  the  division  of  the  money, 
came  to  settle  the  dispute  before  the  clerk  of  the  court, 
who  took  the  girl  from  her  unnatural  protectors  and 
placed  her  in  the  school.  Another  was  the  slave  of  a 
prominent  chief.  After  his  death  his  two  widows 
treated  her  so  cruelly  that  she  ran  away,  and  was 
found  hidden  under  a  house.  She  was  taken  into  the 
school  and  furnished  protection  and  a  home.  A  man 
that  married  one  of  the  widows  claimed  her  as  his  prop- 
erty, and  tried  to  get  possession  of  her,  but  in  vain.  The 
school  was  her  protector.  Another,  to  prevent  being 
married  to  her  stepfather  and  becoming  a  plural  wife 
with  her  own  mother,  ran  away  and  came  to  the  school. 
For  a  long  time  she  did  not  dare  visit  her  mother, 
and  when  at  length  she  ventured  to  visit  home, 
they  locked  her  up  in  a  room  to  keep  her.  After  some 
days  she  again  escaped  and  returned  to  the  school  for 
shelter.  A  girl  of  fifteen  and  her  sister,  ten  years  of 
age,  were  picked  up  on  the  beach  at  a  mining  camp. 
They  were  without  friends  or  home,  almost  without 
clothing,  and  in  a  starving  condition.  Through  neg- 
lect and  cruel  treatment  the  younger  one  was  almost 
blind.  These  orphan  sisters  were  taken  into  the 
school,  fed,  clothed,  and  kindly  cared  for.  Medical 
attendance  was  provided,  and  the  blind  one  restored 
to  sight. 

Among  the  boys,  one  had  been  sold  as  a  slave  twice 
before  he  was  brought  to  the  school.     Another  had 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      219 

been  shot  as  a  slave  and  a  bullet  sent  crushing  through 
his  shoulder.  A  third  had  been  tied  up  as  a  witch 
and  kept  four  days  without,  food,  when  he  was 
rescued.  Another  when  born,  was  about  to  be  killed 
by  his  parents  to  save  the  trouble  of  taking  care  of 
him.  A  neighboring  woman  took  pity  on  the  baby 
and  removed  him  to  her  own  house.  When  the  school 
commenced  he  was  placed  in  it.  Many  others  have 
come  under  the  protection  of  the  school  through  trials 
and  dangers. 

And  all  along  the  coast  if  a  child  is  to  be  sold  into 
slavery,  or  is  in  danger  of  being  tortured  to  death  as  a 
witch,  or  forced  into  a  life  of  sin,  they  know  that  if 
they  can  escape  and  reach  the  Presbyterian  Mission 
School  at  Sitka  they  are  safe."  :;; 

This, is  a  strange  state  of  affairs  in  a  Christian 
country.  When  the  Russians  owned  Alaska,  they  first 
baptized  the  native  women,  often  young  children,  that 
their  lust  might  not  be  contaminated  by  contact  with 
pagans.  American  whalers  and  miners  treat  the 
natives-no— better,  but  omit  the  impious  baptism. 
Missionaries  should  be  sent  to  the  whites,  I  think. 

Marriages  among  the  Indian  pupils  are  greatly  to  be 
desired,  that  neither  husband  nor  wife  may  be  ham- 
pered by  a  heathen.  Dr.  Jackson  therefore  started  a 
model  village  at  Sitka.  If  any  of  the  mission  natives 
wish  to  marry,  a  loan  of  $350  is  made,  for  which  they 
give  notes  payable  in  annual  installments  of  $70  with- 
out interest.  This  pays  for  materials  for  house  only ; 
it  is  erected  by  the  man.  Girls  are  thoroughly  trained 
in  sewing  and  housework,  so  that  his  wife  can  make 
the  most  of  what  they  have.  There  are  already  eight 
of  these  houses,  five  of  them  entirely  paid  for. 

A  normal  department  for  training  native  teachers 
is  much  needed  at  this  large  and  prosperous  school, 
which  has  fourteen  buildings.  But  as  Dr.  Jackson 
tersely  said,  "Men  who  wouldn't  give  a  cent  to  a  civil- 


220        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

izing  school  or  a  starving  Indian  will  not  grudge  twenty  | 
dollars  to  get  one  drunk."     "Have  the  Indians  ever  ::|8 
turned  against  you,  doctor?"     "Never,  except  strange  izjjt 
ones.     I  have  had  to  rush  for  a  stockade,  years  ago,  and  £9 
I  have  ridden  all  day  among  the  Sioux  with  a  loaded  <•.•; 
rifle  across  my  knees  while  on  my  way  to  proclaim  the^lj 
gospel  of  peace,  but  I  have  always  found  the  Indians  '':m 
I  knew,  grateful." 

For  many  years  Dr.  Jackson  has  enjoyed  the  pleasures   41 
of  home  but  a  short  time  in  mid-winter.     Every  Spring  :  -M 
now  he  takes  the  earliest  ship  north  and  comes  out  on    jj 
the  latest,  going  the  rounds  of  the  government  schools 
and  reindeer  stations  to  the  northernmost  land  on  this 
continent,  Point  Barrow,  where  he  established  a  school 
in    1890.      Mrs.    Elliott   F.    Shepard    of    New    York 
furnished    the    money    for    this.      Dr.    Jackson    has    $| 
often    been    aboardship    frozen    in    the   ice    of    the 
Arctic.     He  is  a  bad  sailor,  and  dislikes  the  constant 

travel,   but   I   don't  think  anybody  ever  heard  him 1 

volunteer  the  information.  Whatever  he  has  to  do 
he  accomplishes  without  reference  to  liking  or  dislik- 
ing. Yet  he  always  finds  time  to  be  helpful  to  others. 
How  many  times  when  I  was  ingloriously  seasick  has 
he  amused  my  tiny  daughter,  cutting  out  paper  dolls 
with  small  folding  scissors  from  his  pocket — he  carries 
everything,  I  never  saw  such  a  man — or  drawing 
pictures,  or  submitting  to  "bear  hugs"  with  the  utmost 
patience.  Not  a  person  aboard,  I  think,  but  received 
some  little  courtesy  from  him.  Up  the  Yukon  one  of 
the  ladies  lost  her  comb  and  was  in  despair.  The 
doctor  said  nothing  but  disappeared  and  returned  with 
a  comb.  "I  always  carry  several,'*  he  explained. 
Another  time  it  was  insect  powder;  another,  absorb- 
ent cotton,  and  so  on ;  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  he  had 
not,  and  always  in  sufficient  quantities  to  spare,  even 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      221 

patience.  At  every  stop  he  obtained  earth,  flowers, 
shrubs,  etc. ,  for  the  Agricultural  Department  at  Wash- 
ington, and  was  running  over  with  information. 

These  various  schools  at  such  unheard  of  places  are 
extremely  interesting.  Dr.  Jackson's  account  of  the 
beginning  of  that  at  Point  Hope  on  the  Arctic  Ocean, 
about  300  miles  south  of  Point  Barrow,  is  especially  so : 

44 The  school  was  opened  on  the  ist  of  October,  1890. 
The  day  brought  with  it  a  blizzard  and  snow  storm 
that  lasted  for  nine  days.  During  the  morning  the 
teacher  occupied  the  schoolroom  alone,  but  as  time 
wore  on  and  no  pupils  came  he  put  on  his  furs  and 
started  for  the  village  to  hunt  up  the  children.  He 
found  a  boy  walking  the  beach.  Taking  him  into 
the  schoolroom,  he  commenced  school.  At  its  close  he 
presented  his  pupil  with  a  couple  of  pan-cakes  left  from 
his  own  breakfast.  The  effect  was  equal  to  any  reward 
of  merit  That  boy  proved  one  of  the  most  regular  in 
attendance  during  the  entire  winter  season.  The  next 
morning__four_  presented  themselves,  and  from  that 
the  school  grew  to  68.  A  mixture  of  flour,  molasses, 
and  water  made  a  sort  of  cake,  a  little  of  which  was 
given  to  the  pupils  each  evening,  proving  not  only  a 
very  cheap  and  efficient  method  of  securing  regular 
attendance,  and  promoting  discipline,  as  they  had  to 
be  both  present  and  perfect  in  their  deportment  and 
recitations  to  be  entitled  to  cake.  The  scholars  usually 
arrived  from  six  to  seven  in  the  morning  and  remained 
all  day.  The  sun  disappeared  on  the  xoth  of  December 
and  returned  on  the  3d  of  January,  giving  them  a  night 
of  twenty-four  days.  Lamps  were  required  in  the 
schoolroom  from  November  12  to  February  9.  During 
February  and  a  portion  of  March  a  series  of  blizzards 
set  in  that  were  beyond  description.  The  ice  was  solid 
across  the  ocean  to  Cape  Prince  of  Wales,  200  miles 
distant.  The  effect  of  the  gales  was  such  that  at  times 
it  seemed  as  if  the  schoolhouse  must  be  blown  away. 
Snow  flew  in  perfect  sheets.  The  schoolhouse  was 
located  two  miles  from  the  village,  and  yet,  notwith- 
standing the  storms  and  distance,  the  attendance  was 


222        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

good     For  a  few  days  the  teacher  hired  men  to  see 
the  little  ones  safely  home  through  the  storm   (the  two 
miles  distance),  but  soon  found  that  the  precaution  was 
unnecessary ;  that  they  were  accustomed  to  take  care  x 
of  themselves." 

Dr.  Jackson  visits  these  Arctic  stations  on  the  reve- 
nue cutter  Bear,  which  has  a  noble  reputation  for  life- 
saving  in  those  icy  waters.  The  Bear  was  built  in : 
Scotland  for  a  whaler.  She  rescued  Greeley's  party 
after  the  disastrous  Lady  Franklin  Bay  expedition,  and 
has  since  been  in  revenue  cutter  service.  Her  chief 
officer,  Captain  Tuttle,  was  an  officer  in  "the  navy  during 
the  Civil  War.  He  is  a  soldierly-looking  man,  and  Dr. 
Jackson  speaks  highly  of  his  courtesy  and  that  of  the 
other  officers  aboard  the  Bear when  he  makes  his  long 
and  frequent  trips.  / 

Some  of  the  Alaskan  schools  were  founded  in  queer 
ways,  notably  that  at  Circle  City.  In  1895,  this  was  a 
large  and  populous  mining  town  and  it  was  felt  that  a 
school  should  be  started.  Dances  seemed  to  be  the 
pleasantest  and  quickest  way  of  raising  funds.  Now  a 
dance  at  Circle  City  would  hardly  strike  one  as  an 
educational  event,  the  ** gentlemen"  being  miners  in 
their  working  clothes  and  the  "ladies"  prostitutes  and 
squaws.  This,  however,  is  the  curious  bill  rendered  in 
the  teacher's  report  to  the  Commissioner  of  Education : 

Dance,  Dec.  18,  1895 $348 

"      23      " 706-70 

Cash 10* 

Dance,  Sept.  25,  1896 $276  50 

"       Oct.    ii      "    236  55 

"       Dec.  ii      "    137 


75 
*  I  should  like  to  know  who  gave  that,  and  why? 

"Against  this,  for  building,  store,  etc.,  and  wood, 


DR.   SHELDON  JACKSOX   IN   SVMMRR   ARCTIC   ATTIRE 


SHELDON  JACKSON'S  MONUMENT      223 

teacher  for  three  months  last  year,  $2,258.82. — Balance 
on  books  of  A.  C.  Cr.,  $544.07." 

In  her  report  Miss  Fulcomer  says: 

"In  June  it  suddenly  grew  intensely  hot.  All  kinds 
of  bugs  and  worms  began  to  crawl  out  of  the  chinking 
between  the  logs,  sometimes  enough  to  make  one's 
flesh  creep.  In  winter  the  children  straggle  in  sleep- 
ily from  10:30  till  noon,  and  seem  to  be  in  a  sort  of 
torpor  ...  I  can  do  the  sweeping,  cleaning,  filling 
lamps,  etc. ,  but  a  fire  maker  is  a  necessity. ' ' 

For  "Work's  sake,  what  for?  Does  she  expect  to  do 
nothing  for  the  munificent  stipend  she  receives?  Some 
people  are  so  unreasonable,  but  perhaps  she  will 
explain.  She  goes  on  to  say : 

"I  cannot  stand  the  cold  and  hard  work  of  carrying 
wood,  cutting  kindling,  etc." 

She  herself  paid  for  a  fire  shovel  and  broom  to  clean 
the  snow  off  the  roof,  for  when  it  was  melting,  the  roof 
leaked  so  that  there  was  scarcely  a  dry  spot  in  the 
room.  When  they  had  some  money,  enthusiasm 
gave  out,  and  they  wanted  to  put  it  into  a  dance  hall. 
She  very  sensibly  concludes: 

"When  the  population  of  a  town  may  be  there  one 
month  and  the  next  month  a  hundred  or  a  thousand 
miles  away,  the  school  should  be  entirely  in  the  hands 
of  the  government. ' ' 

It  was  just  before  Dr.  Jackson  went  to  Alaska  last 
year  that  he  was  elected  moderator  of  the  Presbyterian 
assembly.  How  he  finds  time  to  accomplish  all  he 
does,  even  with  the  extraordinary  industry  I  have 
often  noted,  is  more  than  I  understand.  Several  years 
ago  he  published  a  book,  "Alaska,  or  Missions  on 
the  North  Pacific  Coast."  He  has  also  saved  and 
invested  money  inherited  by  both  himself  and  his 
wife,  so  that  he  is  comfortably  well  off.  He  would 
have  more  if  he  had  not  given  $50,000  to  establish  a 


224        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Christian  college  in  Salt  Lake  City.  Dr.  Jackson  has 
a  pleasant  home  in  Washington,  filled  with  many  rare 
things  gathered  during  his  long  service  in  far  lands. 
The  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  congratulating  him- 
self that  he  was  nearing  home  and  family,  but  it  was 
not  long  after  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Lapland  for 
reindeer  for  the  government  relief  expedition.  I 
asked  him  one  day  what  of  all  the  varied  achievements 
of  his  life  he  reckoned  most  useful.  He  replied,  "My 
part  in  introducing  domestic  reindeer  into  Alaska." 

As  for  the  inscription  on  his  monument,  methinks  it 
might  well  be  the  account  another  rough  rider  for 
Christianity  gave  of  himself  many  centuries  ago.  And 
Paul's  words  singularly  apply  to  this  man  who  has 
never  had  an  easy  berth  or  a  "fashionable  charge," 
or  a  big  salary: 

"In  labors  abundant,  in  prisons  more  frequent,  in 
journeyings  often,  in  peril  of  waters,  in  peril  of  rob- 
bers, in  perils  by  mine  own  countrymen,  in  perils  by 
the  heathen,  in  perils  in  the  city,  in  perils  in  the  wilder- 
ness, in  perils  among  false  brethren." 

"In  weariness  and  painfulness,  in  watchings  often, 
in  hunger  and  thirst,  in  fastings  often,  in  cold  .  .  . 
Beside  those  things  that  are  without,  that  which  cometh 
upon  me  daily,  the  care  of  all  the  churches." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

RESOURCES     FOR     PERMANENT   SETTLEMENT    IN   ALASKA 

How  fortunate  that  tastes  vary.  "What  can  he  see 
in  that  girl?"  exclaims  every  other  fellow  in  Tom's  set, 
yet  he  says  in  a  rapture,  **O  darling,  I  feared  you  would 
marry  Dick  or  Harry," — Dick  worships  that  "scraggy" 
Miss  Belmont,  and  Harry  adores  that  "pudgy"  Miss 
Davis.  The  adjectives  are  Tom's.  One  man  strides 
joyously  through  the  snow,  inhaling  with  delight  long 
breaths  of  tingling  cold;  another  loves  the  burning 
sun  upon  him  as  he  does  the  eyes  of  his  sweetheart. 
So  every  Jack  has  his  Jill,  and  every  country  its  patri- 
ots. A  cold,  reserved  beauty  may  possess  charms 
apart  from  her  wealth,  and  since  I  have  seen  Alaska, 
I  feel  that  the  fortune-hunters  who  have  crowded  one 
another  to  secure  her  gold,  have  not  learned  her  gifts 
and  graces,  as  her  real  lovers  know  them. 

The  fact  is,  Alaska  will  eventually  support  a  con- 
siderable permanent  population  dependent  in  no  way 
upon  its  mines.  Norway  and  Lapland  have  few 
advantages  over  it.  Dr.  Dawson,  with  full  knowledge 
and  after  careful  investigations,  asserts  that  this  great 
Northwest  is  capable  of  sustaining  a  large  pastoral  and 
agricultural  population.  Its  climate  and  conditions  are 
about  the  same  as  those  of  Vologda,  a  Russian  prov- 
ince of  155,498  square  miles,  with  a  population  of 
1,161,000.  Alaska  contains  577,390  square  miles. 

The  climate  has  been  maligned.  To  be  sure  there 
are  eight  months  of  'winter,  and  it  is  a  steady,  intense 
cold  which  has  been  known  to  touch  72°  below  zero, 

225 


226        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

but  that  is  most  unusual,  the  average  being  probably 
40°  higher,  and  a  dry  cold.  I  have  heard  several  people 
who  have  lived  in  both  countries  say  that  Alaska's  cold 
is  not  more  severe  than  Montana's.  It  is  certainly 
moderating,  too,  in  Alaska,  if  the  oldest  inhabitants 
are  trustworthy.  When  "old  Komkoff,"  the  Russian, 
first  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon  fully  forty  years 
ago,  he  swears  the  ice  was  seven  feet  thick.  "Every 
year, ' '  the  queer  old  man  said  to  me,  using  his  small 
English  vocabulary  haltingly,  aided  by  gestures,  "ice 
he  grow  thinner,"  measuring  lower  and  lower  with  his 
great  hand,  "now  only  so,"  about  four  feet,  "soon  I 
break  through. ' '  I  think  Komkoff  is  in  no  danger  of 
falling  through  the  ice  in  Alaska  during  his  lifetime, 
however,  when  it  is  true  that  miners  in  the  now 
abandoned  silver  mines  at  Golovin  Bay,  only  a  hundred 
miles  north  of  St.  Michael,  found  the  ground  frozen 
solid  for  ninety-six  feet  straight  down  below  the  sur- 
face. During  the  extreme  cold  it  is  impossible  to  fire 
a  gun.  The  very  oil  freezes  about  the  lock.  Throw  a 
basin  of  water  into  the  air  and  the  drops  will  fall  hail. 
Spit,  and  an  icicle  will  be  instantly  formed. 

The  worst  of  the  winter,  all  admit,  is  the  darkness. 
As  the  summer  wanes,  the  nights  grow  dark,  and  the 
moon  and  stars  again  appear.  The  days  shorten,  dark- 
ness falling  earlier,  and  dawn  coming  later.  For  six 
days  from  December  22,  the  winter  solstice,  no  sun 
appears,  and  for  six  weeks  it  shows  itself  only  on  fine 
days,  lazily  beginning  work  at  ten  in  the  morning  and 
knocking  off  at  two  in  the  afternoon.  Of  course  in 
Northern  Alaska  it  is  even  worse.  This  and  the  dry, 
exhilarating  cold  make  a  "nervous  climate."  By 
spring,  people  are  actually  pallid,  like  grass  strug- 
gling along  in  a  cellar.  There  are  always  compen- 
sations though,  it  is  in  winter  that  the  magnificent 


RESOURCES  OF  ALASKA  227 

Aurora  Borealis  lights  the  heavens  with  a  beauty  like 
that  which  must  shine  from  the  gate  above  to  guide 
earth  wanderers  in.  The  stars  gleam  like  diamond 
spangles  upon  the  robe  of  night ;  ribbons  of  gorgeous 
color  float  shimmering  down  it,  moons  as  many  as 
affrighted  the  soothsayers  of  Caesar  hold  conclave,  and 
not  only  the  sky  but  the  lower  air  seems  quivering  with 
joyous  lights  and  colors  which  silently  dance  and  play, 
pursue  and  evade,  not  dreaming  that  their  vagaries  are 
seen  of  man,  so  solitary  are  rugged  mountain,  frozen 
river,  and  far  stretching  tundra,  lying  lifeless  under  a 
pall  as  of  glistening  white  samite.  Oh,  the  marvelous, 
mysterious  beauty  of  an  Arctic  night ! 

The  summer  temperature  averages  as  high  as  in  the 
States,  sometimes  reaching  100°  in  the  shade,  yet  in 
many  places  are  great  glaciers  covered  with  dense  veg- 
etation growing  upon  silt  deposited  upon  the  ice,  and 
when  I  was  in  St.  Michael  last,  a  woman  was  buried  in 
frozen  ground  only  three  feet  below  the  smiling  tundra, 
gay  with  wild  flowers.  Summer  comes  suddenly  and 
in  all  her  glory.  Then  is  Alaska  like  unto  Paradise, 
for  there  is  no  night  there,  neither  moon  nor  stars. 
Above  the  Arctic  Circle,  where  one  third  Alaska 
lies,  the  sun  shines  through  the  live-long  night,  and 
even  below  the  Circle  the  glory  of  his  departure  and 
the  grandeur  of  his  quick  return  mingle  in  a  strange 
beauty.  I  have  sat  reading  by  my  window  in  Alaska 
long  past  midnight,  and  have  laid  aside  the  book  to 
watch  the  flood  of  crimson  and  purple  bathing  the 
mountains  till  their  sharp  outlines  seemed  all  unreal. 
As  I  watched  it,  sorrow  and  care,  disappointments  and 
perplexities  softened  too,  and  became  unreal,  while  in 
their  place  was  a  great  peace. 

The  sun  dogs  are  a  phenomenon  of  Alaska  in  sum- 
mer. Sometimes  several  may  be  seen  at  once.  It  is 


228        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

odd,  too,  that  at  nightfall,  as  we  would  say  at  home, 
a  sudden  chill  comes  into  the  air  and  a  slight  breeze 
arises  as  if  darkness  had  really  fallen.  It  must  be  the 
passing  of  the  ghost  of  the  night  that  is  dead.  The  effect 
of  the  constant  day  is  to  rush  vegetation  in  a  marvelous 
way.  "Come,  come, "  says  the  sun,  "be  up  and  doing. 
Your  time  is  short.  Remember  the  night  cometh 
when  no  plant  doth  grow."  So  the  garden  never 
sleeps,  and  although  the  season  is  short  the  Pinkerton 
vegetables  mature  as  well  as  in  the  States.  In  Alaska 
it  is  not  necessary  to  follow  the  example  of  the  man 
who  crossed  his  bees  with  lightning-bugs  so  that  they 
might  work  all  night. 

A  larger  proportion  of  Alaska  is  arable  than  you 
would  think,  and  the  soil  is  immensely  fertile.  It  is 
covered  with  peat,  black  as  ink.  The  earth  is  in  many 
places  too  rich,  in  fact,  and  is  better  after  being  worked. 
For  fifty  miles  along  the  river  from  Fort  Yukon  to 
Circle  City  extends  a  tract  of  land  several  miles  wide 
in  its  narrowest  part,  which  is  probably  one  of  the 
garden  spots  of  the  world.  Vegetables  of  all  kinds 
would  mature  there,  growing  to  large  size,  and  pos- 
sessing unusual  flavor  and  sweetness.  If  some  of  the 
foolish  who  are  thronging  to  Alaska  to  mine,  were  to 
turn  their  knowledge  of  market  gardening  to  advan- 
tage, they  would  realize  sure  fortunes,  whereas  they  are 
bound  to  almost  as  sure  failure.  Nothing  is  now  grown 
in  Alaska  for  sale.  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  depriva- 
tions of  the  miners  that  no  fresh  fruit  or  vegetables  are 
obtainable.  They  would  pay  large  prices  for  them. 
A  very  small  "pack"  of  seeds  would  make  a  man  rich  if, 
instead  of  delving  deep  for  gold,  he  would  "tickle  the 
earth  with  a  hoe  till  she  laughed  with  a  harvest. ' '  The 
boats  would  gladly  buy  of  the  gardeners  and  the 
returns  from  a  small  patch  in  one  summer  would  be 


RESOURCES  OF  ALASKA  229 

sufficient  to  live  upon  for  prospecting  in  the  winter,  if 
a  man  still  determined  to  mine.  Until  now,  no  one 
has  had  time  for  farming  nor  gardening,  though  the 
missions  have  grown  vegetables  for  their  own  use  in 
a  small  way.  They  have  been  unable  to  procure  seed, 
as  they  wished,  and  most  of  it  was  poor,  but  several  of 
their  gardens  were  successes  last  year.  There  was  a 
very  good  one  at  Holy  Cross  Mission — two,  in  fact,  one 
terraced  up  the  side  hill  and  one  at  the  bottom,  so  that 
if  the  season  were  dry  or  wet,  one  garden  would  be 
satisfied.  Father  Ragaru  accompanied  us  up  the 
mountain.  It  was  pretty  steep,  but  the  peas  and  beans 
climbed  blithely  without  losing  their  breath,  and  the 
cucumbers  ran  along  without  a  puff.  When  we  re- 
turned to  the  Healy^  Sister  Mary  Joseph  gave  us 
turnips,  potatoes,  lettuce  and  radishes,  which  the  Indian 
boys  carried  down  to  the  boat.  How  fresh  they  did 
look,  and  how  the  miners  would  have  feasted  on  them, 
but  they  were  kept  for  the  sick  woman.  Turnips  are 
particularly  good  and  grow  large  there.  They  are 
called  ** Yukon  apples"  and  can  be  raised  in  great 
quantities.  I  ate  one  of  these  "apples"  raw  at  Fort 
Cudahy,  I  remember,  with  infinite  relish.  It  is  sur- 
prising how  soon  anything  fresh  becomes  a  luxury. 
This  turnip  tasted  as  good  as  the  rutabagas  we  chil- 
dren used  to  eat  when  we  played  house.  One  of  the 
traders  told  me  that  "Jack"  McQuesten  raised  ten  tons 
of  turnips  the  year  the  Arctic  sunk.  They  were 
about  all  they  had  to  live  on  for  a  while.  The  quan- 
tity sounds  large,  but  he  insisted  it  was  true.  This  was 
at  Forty-Mile. 

Across  Forty- Mile  Creek,  at  Fort  Cudahy,  I  saw  a 
very  nice  garden  containing  both  vegetables  and 
flowers.  It  is  a  communal  affair.  Each  works  a  little  in 
the  garden,  and  everyone  eats  of  the  fruit  thereof, 


23o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

which  reminds  me  that  fruit  trees  are  not  seen  in 
Alaska,  not  only  because  of  the  short  season,  but 
because  their  roots  would  go  too  deep  and  strike  ice. 

Mr.  Ogilvie,  D.  L.  S.,  surveyed  for  a  man  named 
Gibson  an  island  in  Forty- Mile  delta,  which,  he  said, 
would  raise  anything  for  market  gardens.  Potatoes  of 
the  far  North  taste  like  Bermudas,  and  thrive  well. 
Onions  only  do  not  mature  enough  to  be  kept  over 
winter,  and  spinach  grows  so  rapidly  that  it  is  apt  to 
seed  before  it  is  fit  to  eat.  Gardens  are  planted  about 
the  middle  of  June.  They  require  no  watering  for 
there  is  frost  not  far  below  upon  which  they  can  draw 
for  moisture.  The  devouring  insects  of  civilization 
will  not  reach  Alaska  much  ahead  of  appendicitis  and 
heart  failure,  so  that  market  gardens  will  have  little  to 
contend  with  beside  barbarian  weeds  and  mosquitoes. 
They  say  mosquitoes,  like  other  savages,  die  with 
civilization's  triumph,  but  I  fear  they  will  not  disappear 
until  the  cutworms,  et  aL ,  arrive,  so  that  it  will  prove  a 
choice  between  coal  bills  and  ice,  so  to  speak. 

As  to  small  fruits,  Alaska  is  one  big  berry  field.  In 
summer  the  children  of  the  world  could  fill  their  little 
pails  with  every  sort  of  berry  that  grows,  I  think.  So 
thick  are  the  wild  strawberry  blossoms  about  Mount  St. 
Elias  that  you  would  imagine  the  snow  still  whitened 
the  ground.  The  Yukon  blueberries,  longish  and  a 
trifle  tart,  show  the  tame,  tasteless  ones  of  the  States 
what  they  should  be.  Red  currants  and  black  ones, 
too,  are  plentiful  as  disappointments,  but  a  heap 
more  relishing;  so  are  raspberries  and  dewberries. 
Mooseberries  look  like  currants,  but  the  leaves  appear 
dewy.  I'm  quite  willing  that  moose  should  eat  them 
all,  and  any  other  animal,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  may 
freely  partake  of  the  kinnikinnicks,  whose  sole  charac- 
teristic is  mealiness.  Salmon  berries  ripen  when  the 


RESOURCES  OF  ALASKA  231 

salmon  run.  They  resemble  a  yellow  raspberry  in  size 
and  color.  I  never  think  of  them  without  recalling  an 
official's  wife  who  had  recently  come  to  Alaska.  Step- 
ping into  a  skiff  one  day  she  saw  what  she  supposed  to 
be  the  new  berry  on  a  seat,  and  put  it  into  her  mouth. 
It  proved  to  be  an  egg  from  a  salmon  roe,  fully 
ripened  by  the  sun.  Old  friends  are  best,  old  books, 
old  wine;  but  eggs,  especially  fish  eggs,  are  best  in 

their  early  youth.     To  this  day  Mrs.  C rarely  eats 

salmon  berries,  for  they  recall  a  reminiscent  flavor  she 
would  fain  forget. 

Cranberries  of  several  varieties  are  very  plentiful. 
Most  of  them  are  low  bush,  but  in  the  new  barracks 
at  Dawson,  I  saw  some  growing  upon  a  pretty  vine 
which  at  first  I  took  for  wintergreen. 

In  early  summer  wild  roses  make  the  whole  country 
gay  and  sweet  while  they  bloom,  and  have  hips  and  haws 
— I  never  know  one  from  the  other — which  grow  large 
and  are  eaten  by  the  Indians.  I  used  to  nibble  the 
coral  things,  too,  chiefly  because  they  are  pretty. 
There  is  money  to  be  made  in  gathering  and  selling  all 
these  berries.  Both  miners  and  boats  eagerly  buy 
them,  but  the  Indians  will  not  gather  them  in  quan- 
tities, and  everyone  else  is  too  busy.  If  sugar  and 
cane  were  plenty,  there  would  be  a  good  deal  of  money 
to  be  made  by  women  in  preserving  the.  berries. 

I  know  nothing  of  the  resources  of  Alaska  with 
regard  to  grains,  they  have  never  been  experimented 
with,  but  you  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  the  "blue 
grass  of  Kentucky"  grows  wild  as  high  as  your  head, 
and  that  "red  top"  is  luxuriant.  At  Holy  Cross  I  saw 
a  large  hay  field  which  Father  Ragaru  said  raised  more 
hay  than  they  could  possibly  use  for  their  cattle. 
There's  a  good  joke  about  this  mission's  cattle.  Ask 
the  father  what  it  is. 


232         THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

There  are  very  few  horses  in  the  country,  but  there 
was  not  hay  enough  for  them  last  year;  although  it 
readily  brought  $125  a  ton,  and  in  many  parts  of  the 
country,  notably  along  the  Stewart  River,  N.  W.  T., 
it  could  be  had  for  the  cutting  during  the  summer.  At 
Dawson,  though  flour  was  $1.10  a  pound,  horses  were 
fed  it,  barley  and  split  peas.  Fritz  Kloke,  one  of  the 
successful  miners  in  Bonanza,  was  the  first  I  know  to 
take  up  land  for  such  purposes.  He  paid  $1.25  an  acre 
for  meadowland  along  a  slough. 

Ordinary  stock  would  scarcely  pay  in  Alaska,  owing 
to  the  difficulty  of  keeping  it  during  the  long  winter 
and  from  the  pestiferous  mosquitos  in  summer.  But 
a  large  pastoral  population  could  be  supported  by  herds 
of  reindeer.  As  has  been  said,  the  country  is  covered 
with  their  natural  food;  and  10,000,000  head  might 
range  the  mountains.  Fresh  milk  could  then  be  had, 
milk  thrice  richer  than  a  Jersey's,  and  it  could  be 
canned  in  large  quantities  for  export.  Cheese  of  a 
superior  kind  could  also  be  manufactured.  Fresh  meat 
would  be  plenty  and  body  products  could  be  shipped. 

So  much  has  been  said  of  Alaska's  gold  that  the 
importance  of  her  immense  fisheries  has  been  almost 
lost  sight  of.  From  1884  to  1890  the  income  from 
salmon  alone  was  $7,500,000,  $300,000  more  than  the 
entire  country  cost.  For  many  years  the  whales  of  the 
Arctic  have  furnished  most  of  the  sperm  oil  and  whale 
bone  of  commerce ;  the  cod  of  Alaska's  coast  is  equal 
to  Newfoundland's ;  her  rivers  run  as  red  with  salmon 
as  did  Egypt's  with  blood  the  day  Moses  cursed  the 
water ;  and  a  pioneer  who  had  made  fishing  a  business 
there  told  me,  others  corroborating  what  sounded  like 
a  double  fish  story,  that  he  had  caught  a  ton  of  gray- 
ling a  day.  All  this  would  provide  a  permanent  popu- 
lation with  means  of  support,  fishing,  salting,  canning 


RESOURCES  OF  ALASKA  233 

and  exporting.  The  liver  of  the  loche,  a  sort  of  cod 
in  the  Yukon,  furnishes  a  pdte-de-foie-gras  so  rich  that 
a  teaspoonful  is  enough.  The  liver  is  large  and  con- 
sists almost  wholly  of  oil. 

Lumbering  will  be  another  industry  of  the  near 
future.  Alaska,  for  hundreds  of  miles  at  a  stretch,  is 
heavily  wooded.  The  supply  is  almost  inexhaustible. 
Fir,  spruce,  larch,  pine,  birch,  alder,  poplar,  cottonwood, 
quaking  aspen,  willow,  and  a  fragrant  light  yellow 
cedar  that  is  excellent  for  shipbuilding,  and  very  dur- 
able, grow  closely.  Near  the  boundary  line  of  British 
Columbia,  in  the  region  about  Juneau,  prospecting  has 
been  greatly  retarded  by  the  dense  forest  growth, 
through  which  most  experienced  woodsmen  can  make 
but  three  or  four  miles  a  day.  Stretching  along  the 
Yukon  in  many  parts,  the  trees  stand  so  close  that 
there  is  hardly  room  for  the  luxuriant  growth  of  bushes 
and  berries  that  make  the  scene  almost  tropical  in 
its  bright  green.  None  of  these  trees  are  large. 
I  did  not  measure  them  but  should  judge  they  aver- 
age ten  or  twelve  inches  in  diameter.  Last  summer 
the  little  sawmill  at  Dawson,  which  is  the  first  taken 
into  the  country,  and  formerly  stood  at  Forty- Mile, 
was  running  twenty  hours  a  day,  employing  two  shifts 
of  men,  and  the  owners  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
run  it  twenty-four  hours  if  they  could  have  obtained 
enough  logs.  But  men  who  are  chasing  rainbows  for 
pots  of  gold,  cannot  spend  their  time  in  anything  so 
prosaic  as  logging.  As  it  was,  the  sawmill  netted  nearly 
$1,000  a  day.  At  that  rate,  sawdust  is  gold  dust. 
When  I  was  there  the  company  was  paying  $50  a 
thousand  for  logs,  and  a  tax  of  $3  a  thousand  to  the 
Dominion,  and  was  receiving  $150  a  thousand  for 
sawed  lumber  and  as  much  for  slabs.  Loggers  float 
their  rafts  down  the  creeks.  Where  the  Klondike 


234        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

empties  into  the  Yukon  there  is  a  curious  current,  half 
the  water  flowing  up  stream,  the  other  half  down,  and 
the  clear  color  of  the  Klondike  not  mingling  with  the 
muddy  greater  stream.  It  is  difficult  to  get  rafts  past 
this  place  and  into  Dawson,  two  miles  further  down. 
In  the  interior,  reindeer  would  be  invaluable  for  haul- 
ing logs.  Back  in  the  mines  sawed  lumber  has  been 
sold  as  high  as  $1,000  a  thousand,  and  is  often  $750. 
Of  course  these  enormous  prices  will  lower  with  the 
advent  of  sawmills.  Last  year,  1897,  there  were  but 
three  in  the  whole  country,  Harper  &  Ladue's  at  Daw- 
son,  N.  W.  T. ,  one  at  Sixty-Mile,  and  one  owned  by  the 
mission  and  leased  to  the  traders  at  Anvik,  Alaska. 

The  Yukon  freezes  first  near  the  mouth,  in  the  delta, 
where  there  is  little  current,  and  the  river  as  far  as  the 
Tanana  is  comparatively  smooth.  Above  that  the 
gorges  narrow  the  channel  and  the  water  rushes  down 
and  in  high  ridges,  often  inclined,  forming  the  worst 
of  anchor  ice.  This  is  why  travel  by  sled,  ice  boat  or 
skating  is  impossible  along  much  of  this  great  artery 
in  winter.  When  spring  comes,  these  sharp  masses  of 
ice  break  up  with  the  force  of  a  log  jam,  undermining 
the  banks  and  felling  trees  as  neatly  as  if  they  were  cut 
by  a  giant  sickle.  The  Indians  catch  these  drifting 
logs  and  cut  into  cord  wood  for  the  use  of  the  river 
steamers,  which  pay  $4  a  cord  down  the  river  and 
$5  near  Dawson,  where  it  is  hard  to  find  at  that  price, 
and  the  boats  are  sometimes  detained  while  the  crew 
go  ashore  to  cut  wood,  as  everyone  in  that  region  is 
mining.  The  boats  use  from  twenty  to  twenty-five 
cords  a  day.  Cordwood  is  needed,  too,  at  the  mines 
for  burning  and  drifting,  in  large  quantities.  There 
it  commands  from  $15  to  $60  a  cord.  Of  course  all  of 
these  prices  will  lower  when  the  rush  of  men  next  year 
will  provide  workmen  in  plenty. 


RESOURCES  OF  ALASKA  235 

When  I  was  in  Dawson,  every  log  that  went  into  a 
cabin  cost  ten  dollars,  not  counting  the  labor,  and  was 
a  small  log  at  that.  Carpenters  were  in  demand  at 
twenty  dollars  a  day.  Men  could  not  stop  to  clear  the 
ground  upon  which  their  shack  was  to  stand,  and  likely 
did  not  know  how  to  build  it.  The  price  of  a  small 
log  cabin,  one  room,  10x12  perhaps,  was  $500  in  gold. 
An  Englishman  I  knew  there,  while  waiting  with  four 
men,  built  his  cabin  in  a  few  days.  The  sole  outlay 
was  $10  for  nails.  He  sold  it  before  it  was  finished. 
After  my  return,  a  man  called  to  get  some  "pointers." 
I  learned  he  had  been  brought  up  in  the  forests  of 
Canada,  and  was  a  practical  lumberman.  I  told  him 
about  this,  and  he  said  he  should  change  all  his  plans ; 
no  uncertain  prospecting  for  him,  when  he  could  surely 
strike  a  bonanza  with  his  ax.  So  instead  of  pick  and 
gold  pan,  he  took  his  kit  of  tools.  He  says  he  is  an 
expert  worker  and  feels  certain  he  could  fell  the  trees 
and  build  such  a  cabin  alone  in  a  week,  or  ten  days  at 
most,  and  $500  a  shack  would  permit  him  to  buy  into 
mines  like  a  capitalist. 

The  fur  trade  of  Alaska  is  not  what  it  was,  but  is 
still  not  to  be  despised.  Almost  all  fur-bearing  animals 
peculiar  to  northern  countries,  are  to  be  found  there. 
But  as  this  has  little  to  do  with  permanent  settlement, 
more  of  it  anon. 

I  have  seen  Alaska  without  a  railroad,  wagon  road, 
regular  mail,  cable  or  telegraph;  without  a  single 
town,  or  jail,  or  soldier;  without  a  factory,  a  farm, 
or  a  dairy;  practically  without  a  government,  and 
with  a  handful  of  men  roaming  its  vast  solitudes.  I 
am  convinced  that  before  I  die,  if  my  days  are  as  many 
as  my  father's,  I  might  return  to  find  Alaska  rich, 
prosperous,  populous,  with  the  smoke  of  its  canneries 
ascending  straight  to  its  clear  blue  sky,  with  ships  from 


236        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

many  countries  touching  at  its  ports ;  dotted  by  farms, 
and  with  towns  here  and  there.  States  will  be  formed 
from  it  in  time  to  come,  and  children  will  preserve  as 
curiosities  the  geographies  their  mothers  studied  show- 
ing that  magnificent  portion  extending  from  North 
America,  and  will  laugh  at  the  expression  "exclusive 
of  Alaska"  applied  to  that  wonderful,  no  longer 
strange  country.  I  believe  time  will  prove  the  truth 
of  my  prophecy,  though  I  am  by  no  means  alone  in 
making  it.  Captain  Ray,  for  instance,  is  enthusiastic 
as  to  its  future. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHAT   SHALL   I   PUT   INTO   MY   PACK? 

It's  a  shame  that  when  a  man  has  little  money  but 
much  courage,  he  cannot  obtain  reliable  information 
about  how  to  prepare  for  his  projected  trip  to  the  Land 
of  Promise.  Especially  in  the  matter  of  outfits,  every 
one  seems  to  have  an  ax  to  grind.  As  I  wield  none, 
not  even  a  tiny  hatchet,  I  have  been  often  asked  if  I 
will  not  incorporate  something  upon  the  subject  in 
this  volume. 

"Grub"  is  the  first  consideration  in  Alaska.  Of 
course,  this  can  be  purchased  much  cheaper  in  the 
States,  but  the  freight  makes  it  costly.  If  you  do  out- 
fit before  sailing,  Tacoma  is  undoubtedly  the  cheapest 
and  best  place  on  the  coast.  A  little  farther  up  the 
bay  than  Seattle,  and  therefore  struggling  with  Seattle 
for  supremacy,  the  Tacoma  merchants  seem  determined 
by  lower  prices  and  every  accommodation  to  obtain 
this  greatly  desired  trade. 

When  I  was  last  up  the  Yukon,  the  miners  were 
ordering  their  year's  supplies.  They  always  order 
enough  for  an  entire  year,  as  grub  cannot  be  bought 
again  before  the  boats  come  up  in  [the  spring,  but  a 
surplus  can  always  be  sold.  Several  old  miners  gave 
me  copies  of  what  they  were  buying,  and  comparing 
one  with  another  I  have  struck  this  dependable  aver- 
age outfit.  It's  variety  has  been  carefully  studied  by 
the  miners  as  the  best  prevention  against  scurvy,  the 
curse  of  canned  countries.  The  prices  are  those  which 
were  ruling  in  Dawson  at  that  time,  when  the  boats 
were  in  and  supplies  were  on  hand.  Of  course,  these 

337 


238        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

prices  were  many  times  multiplied  later,  even  if  the 
goods  could  be  obtained.  This  outfit  weighs  about 
i, 800  pounds: 

10  sacks  flour,  @  $6. 
3  Ibs.  baking  powder,  @  $i 
20  Ibs.  buckwheat,  @  25  cts. 
i  Ib.  saleratus,  $i. 
i  case  soda  crackers,  $15. 
60  Ibs.  canned  butter,  $35. 
100  Ibs.  white  sugar,  $30. 
50  Ibs.  brown  sugar,  $12. 
80  Ibs.  beans,  ©15  cts. 

50  Ibs.  each  of  rice,  peas  and  rolled  oats,  @  25  cts. 
25  Ibs.  pearl  barley,  ©25  cts. 
30  Ibs.  cornmeal,  @  25  cts. 
100  Ibs.  bacon,  ©50  cts. 
30  Ibs.  cheese,  $20. 
20  Ibs.  coffee,  $10. 

7  Ibs.  tea,  $10. 
40  Ibs.  lard,  @  50  cts. 
i  case  condensed  milk,  $24. 
i  case  each  canned  tomatoes,  corn  and  evaporated 

potatoes,  each  $12. 
5  cans  cabbage,  $12. 
i  box  prunes,  $7.50. 
10  Ibs.  dried  onions,  $10. 
100  Ibs.  evaporated  fruit,  $40. 
10  Ibs.  raisins, 
i  case  canned  fruit,  $18. 
i  case  each  canned  roast  beef,  roast  mutton,  and 

corned  beef  or  sausage,  $18  each. 
i  case  ^-lb.  cans  oysters,  $18. 
i  case  pickles,  $10. 
i  case  honey,  $24. 
i  gallon  vinegar,  $10. 
i  can  mustard,  $i. 

1  Ib.  pepper,  $2. 

2  doz.  small  bottles  horseradish,  $8. 
10  Ibs.  salt,  $i. 

Flour,  as  the  papers  have  informed  us,  has  sold  up  to 
$1.50  a  pound  during  the  winter.     I  have  put  down 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK  ?  239 

more  baking  powder  and  saleratus  than  a  woman 
would  need  with  the  amount  of  flour,  but  men  always 
use  more.  All  of  the  outfits  mentioned  five  pounds. 
There  are  quite  a  number  of  soda  springs  near  Forty- 
Mile,  and  mineral  springs  of  many  varieties  are  found 
all  over  Alaska.  Soda-water  seldom  freezes.  Biscuits 
mixed  with  it  are  said  to  taste  "like  those  your  mother 
used  to  make,"  and  the  water  is  healthful,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  of  some  that  looks  clear  but  is 
poisoned  by  peat.  Soda  crackers  don't  freeze.  The 
canned  butter  in  Alaska  is  invariably  good;  I  never 
tasted  better — and  I  never  tasted  worse  beans.  Cook- 
ing beans  is  an  art.  I'd  advise  taking  canned  pork  and 
beans,  which  need  only  heating.  It's  really  half 
laughable,  half  pathetic  to  see  miners  in  Alaska, 
especially  newcomers,  trying  to  cook,  and  yearning  for 
the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  One  young  college  man,  who 
in  the  States  was  more  noted  for  his  football  playing 
than  for  his  cooking,  told  me  that  he  had  found  that 
corn  meal  fried  a  good  deal  better  if  it  was  boiled  first ! 
I  tell  you,  there's  going  to  be  an  army  of  contented 
men  back  in  the  States  in  two  or  three  years  who  will 
eat  anything  put  before  them,  even  to  crow,  with  an 
appetite,  an  absence  of  grumbling,  and  a  sense  of  deep 
gratitude  which  will  be  touching  to  behold.  No  need 
of  killing  the  fatted  calf  for  them;  "Any  old  thing  will 
do  for  me,  and  thank  you."  And  when  these  men 
realize  that  they  don't  have  to  cook  themselves  over 
the  fire,  nor  wash  the  pots  afterward,  their  wives  won't 
know  them.  Speaking  of  this  and  the  bacon — a  hun- 
dred pounds  seems  a  good  deal,  but  you  see  the  body 
needs  considerable  fuel  in  cold  weather — reminds  me 
of  Fritz  Kloke,  an  old  miner  who  has  spent  ten  years 
in  Alaska  and  has  undergone  much  hardship  and 
deprivation,  especially  before  the  companies  carried 


24o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

up  such  a  great  variety  of  canned  goods.  At  one  time, 
in  nearly  four  years  he  had  only  thirty-two  pounds  of 
sugar.  He  averaged  but  three  or  four  cans  of  milk  a 
year.  He  would  fry  his  bacon  first,  and  mix  the  grease 
with  flour,  thinning  it  with  water,  and  then  fry  the 
batter.  Fritz  remarked  to  me  in  passing  that  "it 
had  a  very  small  taste  like  omelette."  I  can  readily 
believe  it  was  a  "very  small  taste."  For  Japan  and 
Rio,  he  and  his  two  associates  drank  steeped  juniper  or 
rose-leaves.  Spruce  boughs  make  "quite  nice"  tea, 
he  says,  and  I  will  take  his  word  for  it.  A  man  came 
along  one  day  and  gave  them  a  cup  of  tea  to  divide 
among  the  three,  and  they  "felt  it  a  big  present  too." 
That  was  the  year  Fritz  had  the  scurvy,  and  subse- 
quently lost  all  his  teeth. 

Miners  nowadays  need  not  suffer  for  food  if  they 
have  money,  for  everything  that  will  keep  is  taken  in. 
Mr.  McQuesten — though  nobody  in  Alaska  would  know 
him  if  he's  called  anything  buj:  Jack  McQuesten — has 
been  in  Alaska  twenty-four  years.  One  year  a  couple 
of  miners  went  to  him  and  asked  if  he  wouldn't  send 
out  and  order  some  rolled  oats.  "Oh,  yes."  And 
some  dried  onions.  "Yes."  So  they  took  turns  men- 
tioning things  they'd  like,  and  McQuesten  agreed  to 
everything.  In  the  Spring,  they  went  to  McQuesten 's 
trading  post  for  their  outfit. 

"But  where  are—"? 

"And  are—"  ? 

"And  are—"  ? 

"Why,  gentlemen,"  broke  in  Jack,  "I  thought  you 
were  joshing.  I  didn't  order  them,  never  heard  of 
such  things." 

Now,  of  course,  things  are  very  different,  and  cook- 
ing, except  bread,  is  a  simple  matter. 

There  are  now  many  preparations  of  food  especially 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK  ?  241 

designed  for  long  marches.  You  remember  there  were 
several  exhibits  of  them  at  the  World's  Fair.  The 
only  trouble  with  them  is  that  they  are  expensive,  and 
only  obtainable  in  large  cities.  Still,  you  would  prob- 
ably more  than  cover  the  difference  in  freight  and 
convenience.  Three-quarters  of  an  ounce  of  sacchar- 
ine equals  twenty-five  pounds  of  sugar.  A  relative 
writes  me  that  his  sugar  costs  him  seventy  cents  a 
pound,  ** delivered."  Soup  squares  need  only  to  be 
dissolved  in  water.  Irish  stew  is  dried  so  that  the 
addition  of  water  makes  a  savory  dish.  Extract  of 
beef  can  be  bought  in  Alaska,  and  hot  soup  is  very 
grateful  after  a  long  tramp.  The  Northwest  Mounted 
Police  carry  tea  tablets  and  many  such  things.  Con- 
centrated lime  tablets  are  invaluable.  One  makes  a 
glass  of  lemonade  and  prevents  scurvy. 
But  to  resume  the  outfit : 

10  doz.  candles,  $10. 
Matches,  $3. 
10  gals,  kerosene,  $15. 
20  Ibs.  tobacco,  $30. 

'If  you  have  kept  track  of  things  throughout  the 
winter,  you  will  know  that  candles  have  been  scarce  at  a 
dollar  apiece,  and  kerosene  almost  unobtainable.  When 
one  remembers  the  long  Arctic  night,  the  loneliness, 
the  lack  of  pleasure  and  comforts,  and  darkness  with  it 
all,  some  idea  of  the  cost  of  gold  may  be  obtained.  I 
adjoined  the  tobacco,  for  I  didn't  see  a  man  in  Alaska 
who  didn't  smoke.  They  say  it's  company.  Bad 
cigars  being  fifty  cents  apiece,  it's  cheaper  to  smoke 
a  pipe. 

As  for  cleanliness : 

12  bars  laundry  soap  @  20  cts. 
12  bars  toilet  soap,  @  50  cts, 


242        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

A  man  is  his  own  laundress.  One  miner  told  me 
frankly  that  he  usually  wore  his  clothes  till  he  could 
stand  them  no  longer,  when  he  tied  them  to  a  pole  and 
hung  them  in  a  creek,  and  the  current  did  the  rest. 

As  to  clothes,  leave  your  dress  suit  folded  away  in 
lavender  at  home.  You'll  have  no  more  use  for  it 
than  for  "dem  golden  slippers."  Instead,  for  the 
winter  festivities,  you  will  require,'  also  at  low-water 
mark  Dawson  prices: 

3  suits  of  heavy  underwear,  @  $7. 

3  woolen  overshirts,  @  $3.50. 

i  suit  of  Mackinaw  (blanket  such  as  lumbermen 
wear),  $10. 

1  doz.  woolen  socks,  @  75  cts. 

2  pairs  German  socks,  @  $2.50. 

2  pairs  arctics,  @  $4. 

4  pairs  moccasins,  @  $2. 

3  pairs  buckskin  mittens,  @  $5. 
A  fur  cap,  $6. 

A  fur  parka,  $25. 

A  very  heavy  pair  of  blankets,  or  better,  a  wolf  or 
lynx  robe,  6x7,  for  $100.  I  was  told  of  a  Canadian 
mill  that  has  orders  months  ahead  for  blankets  some- 
thing like  a  quarter-inch  thick.  That  shows  how  little 
people  think  what  it  means  to  "pack"  in  Alaska. 

Sleeping  bags,  much  as  you  hear  of  them  in  the 
States,  are  not  used  by  miners.  "It's  the  sure  sign  of 
a  tenderfoot,"  remarked  one.  Most  of  them  have 
blankets.  One  miner  told  me  when  he  was  a  boy  he 
used  to  puzzle  over  how  a  man  could  "take  up  his  bed 
and  walk,"  but  as  his  now  weighed  but  six  and  a 
quarter  pounds  it  was  clear.  Furs  are  very  expensive 
in  Alaska,  despite  the  fact  that  they  are  plentiful. 
Miners  have  no  time  to  hunt  them,  and  Indians  find 
they  receive  about  what  they  demand,  It's  astonishing 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK  ?  243 

what  such  things  cost  in  Alaska.  I  met  a  man  who 
went  in  last  spring,  taking  an  old  black  sleigh  robe 
that  cost  $14  six  years  before,  and  showed  it.  When 
he  came  out,  a  miner  eagerly  asked  him  if  he'd  take 
three  ounces  ($51)  for  it,  which  he  gladly  did.  In 
fact,  he  sold  about  everything  he  took,  returning  with 
nothing  but  the  clothes  he  had  on  and  one  change  of 
underwear.  Most  people  have  too  few  socks.  With 
the  hard  wear,  they  soon  give  out. 

You  notice  the  ridiculous  price  of  buckskin  mittens. 
The  whole  moose  skin  used  to  cost  but  $1.50;  last 
winter  the  Indians  got  $15.  The  cap  is  of  the  com- 
monest fur,  usually  muskrat.  A  parka  is  a  shirt-like 
short  coat,  which  pulls  over  the  head.  It  has  a  hood 
with  a  fringe  of  fox  or  lynx  which  can  be  made  to 
almost  cover  the  face.  These  parkas  are  made  of  any 
close  fur,  the  cheaper  ones  of  rabbit  skin  or  muskrat. 
The  costly  ones  are  of  Siberian  reindeer.  Men, 
women  and  children,  among  the  natives,  wear  parkas. 
Speaking  of  them  reminds  me  of  such  a  funny  thing 
which  I  do  not  in  the  least  intend  to  be  irreverent.  I 
was  saying  something  about  parkas  when  a  miner  burst 
into  laughter  and  apologized  by  saying  that  he  sud- 
denly thought  of  a  Christmas  service  he  had  attended 
at  one  of  the  Catholic  missions.  His  companion,  a 
rough  fellow,  had  never  attended  mass  before,  and 
was  greatly  interested.  The  priest  announced  that  for 
the  space  of  ten  minutes  Christ  would  be  upon  the 
altar,  whereupon  this  miner  leaned  over  and  said  with 
conviction,  "Look  sharp,  Jim,  it's  the  nearest  you'll 
ever  come  to  seeing  Him,"  and  then  added  wonder- 
ingly  and  not  intending  to  be  funny,  as  the  priest 
donned  one  after  another  of  the  sacred  robes,  "How 
many  parkas  is  he  going  to  put  on ! " 

For  summer  you'll  require : 


244        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

2  or  3  suits  of  light  underwear,  @  $5. 

3  gingham  overshirts,  @  $2. 
A  hat,  $5. 

3  pairs  of  overalls,  @  $2.50. 
i  pair  mukluks,  $5. 

1  pair  hob-nailed  shoes,  $6. 

A  five-dollar  hat  suggests  a  derby  Dunlap ;  needless 
to  say,  that  is  not  the  brand.  A  young  New  Yorker 
came  out  with  us.  He  was  an  aristocratic-looking  boy, 
with  good  clothes,  and  as  he  had  been  in  but  a  few 
months,  I  wondered  idly  where  he  got  that  hat.  It 
had  originally  been  white,  was  large,  soft,  soiled,  and 
didn't  fit.  He  said  a  man  came  up  to  him  just  before 
he  left  Dawson  and  offered  him  five  dollars  and  that 
hat  for  his  half -worn  black  one.  "So  I  traded,  know- 
ing I  could  buy  another  at  Seattle." 

"How  do  you  spell  muk-luks?"  I  asked,  when  I  first 
heard  the  word.  "Oh,"  was  the  answer,  "Alaska's  a 
paradise  for  bad  spellers.  All  the  names  are  Indian, 
Eskimo,  Russian,  or  slang,  and  as  we  have  no  dic- 
tionaries as  authority  for  any  one  of  them  every  fellow 
spells  to  taste — mostly  goes  by  sound. "  Mukluks  are 
skin  boots,  watertight  and  very  strong,  made  from 
sealskin  by  the  natives.  The  hair  is  removed.  Thongs 
bind  them  about  the  ankles.  A  pair  of  rubber  boots 
reaching  the  hips  is  a  great  convenience  in  fording. 

As  to  mining  tools,  you  will  wear  out  every  year  at 
least : 

2  picks,  @  $6. 

2  shovels,  @  $2.50. 

i  ax,  $3. 

i  gold  pan,  $2.50. 

Besides  this,  if  you  are  handy  with  tools,  and  you 
ought  to  be  to  succeed  in  a  primeval  country,  you 
should  have  a  hammer,  whipsaw,  two  augers,  and  a 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK?  245 

chisel,  at  least,  and,  of  course,  the  Great  American 
Jackknife.  Outfitters  advertise  "  snow  -  glasses. " 
Metal-rimmed  ones,  except  gold,  would  freeze  to  your 
nose.  Buy  none  outside,  but  get  some  wooden  ones, 
light  and  effective,  from  the  Indians.  It  is  really 
wonderful  the  skill  primitive  nations  show  in  such 
things.  If  the  Indians  understood  all  the  principles  of 
optics,  they  could  not  excel  these  snow-glasses.  I  have 
shown  them  to  several  scientific  men,  who  all  wondered 
at  their  perfection.  I  gave  a  pair  to  Dr.  Carl  Lumholz, 
the  noted  explorer,  as  he  was  so  much  interested  in 
them.  In  this  connection,  don't  go  to  Alaska  without 
a  reliable  compass.  In  the  winter  there  is  little  sun, 
and  in  the  summer  that  luminary  is  so  erratic  in  its 
movements  around  the  circle  that  it  must  require  long 
practice  to  argue  directions  from  it. 

No  miner  cares  to  make  an  itinerant  drug  store  of 
himself,  though  outfitters  seem  to  think  so.  If  you  are 
a  homeopathist,  go  to  your  family  physician,  and  he 
will  fit  you  a  little  case  of  ordinary  remedies  such  as  a 
lady  I  saw  has.  Folded  in  the  top  of  the  box  was  a 
typewritten  sheet  of  directions. 

No  one  with  the  slightest  weakness  of  the  lungs 
should  go  to  Alaska.  Although  a  really  healthful  cli- 
mate, the  seeds  of  consumption  mature  with  great 
rapidity.  The  reason  many  insurance  companies  will 
not  accept  "risks"  among  those  about  to  leave  for 
Alaska  is  not  the  unhealthfulness  of  the  climate,  but 
because  it  would  be  all  but  impossible  to  legally  prove 
death  there,  and  frauds  would  be  frequent. 

Speaking  of  insurance  crimes  reminds  me  of  that 
Iowa  murderer,  Frank  Novak,  who  tried  to  burn  his 
victim  so  that  he  might  benefit  by  his  own  supposed 
death.  He  was  the  first  convict  ever  taken  out  of 
interior  Alaska,  and  he  went  down  the  Yukon  on  the 


246         THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

boat  I  traveled  upon.  His  room  was  opposite  mine, 
and  as  he  sat  with  the  detective  to  whose  credit  his 
capture  was  due,  Mr.  Perrin  of  Chicago,  I  could  see 
him  reading.  He  was  a  slight,  gentlemanly-looking 
man,  with  a  refined  face,  a  pleasant  face,  except  for 
the  cold  and  cruel  blue  eyes.  He  had  the  finest  hair  I 
ever  saw  on  a  criminal.  Dear  little  Serene  seemed  to 
wonder  why  he,  the  only  exception,  did  not  speak  to 
her.  One  day  she  ran  over  and  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously, and  then  discovered  the  shackles  on  his  ankles. 
Her  sweet  little  voice  said,  "Dood  morning."  He 
hung  his  head  and  did  not  answer.  * '  Teems  to  me,  'ou 
id  naughty.  What  dot  on  'ou  feet?"  Then  turning  to 
me  she  added,  "Man  dotn't  'ove  me,  Mom-y."  Novak 
really  seemed  to  wince  under  the  baby  criticism. 
Perhaps  he  remembered  his  little  children  so  far  away 
to  whom  he  was  returning  in  irons,  bringing  disgrace 
and  shame. 

But  to  return:  Rheumatism,  neuralgia,  and  tooth- 
ache are  common  in  Alaska.  Everyone  intending  to 
go  there  should  have  his  dentist  do  his  worst  before 
leaving.  The  only  one  in  Dawson  is  doing  a  land-office 
business  at  five  dollars  for  a  silver  filling  you  could  get 
here  for  fifty  cents,  and  gold  in  proportion.  Take  lini- 
ment. An  excellent  one  is  equal  parts  of  sweet  oil, 
laudanum  and  ether.  Take  toothache  drops.  There 
wasn't  a  toothbrush  for  sale  in  Alaska  last  year — take 
half  a  dozen  and  tooth  powder.  Teeth  decay  rapidly 
in  that  climate,  without  scurvy  to  assist. 

In  Chicago,  quinine  costs  fifty  cents  an  ounce;  in 
Dawson,  they  balance  it  with  gold  dust,  ounce  for 
ounce — and  gold  dust  there  is  worth  $17  an  ounce.  I 
have  heard  of  salt's  being  weighed  in  the  same  fashion 
back  in  the  mountains.  How  Eskimo  would  won- 
der at  that ;  they  detest  salt.  They  will  spit  out  choice 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK  ?  247 

corned  beef  when  they  would  eat  rotten  fish  with 
infinite  relish. 

A  very  small  vial  of  arnica  costs  two  dollars  in  Daw- 
son,  and  it  is  invaluable  in  a  camp.  Don't  forget 
absorbent  cotton,  a  roll  of  bandages,  witch  hazel,  and 
vaseline.  Accidents  often  happen  in  mining,  and  in 
climbing  the  icy  mountains.  Be  certain  to  carry  a 
good  supply  of  clean  rags.  Mine  were  soon  exhausted 
when  people  knew  I  had  some.  You  see,  carbuncles  are 
all  the  rage  in  Alaska ;  they  are  worn  by  everybody.  This 
is  owing  to  the  lack  of  fresh  vegetables  and  fruit,  and 
the  difficulty  of  varying  food  much.  Poor  Father  Ren 6 
made  the  long  trip  down  the  river  beset  with  a  double 
carbuncle.  Take  some  good  ointment.  Your  wife  or 
mother  will  know  the  only  infallible  kind.  I  was  told 
a  few  spoonfuls  of  condensed  milk,  hot  with  pepper,  is 
good  for  bowel  complaint.  Take  blackberry  brandy, 
court  plaster,  belladonna  plasters,  and  insect  powder. 
Salts  are  one  dollar  a  pound  there.  An  accurate  fever 
thermometer  would  be  a  valuable  thing,  too.  A  drug- 
gist told  me  the  basis  of  all  the  best  cough  medicines 
is  spruce-gum,  which  is  to  be  found  everywhere  in 
Alaska.  Dissolve  one  ounce  of  it  in  a  pint  of  Jamaica 
rum,  if  obtainable  pure,  otherwise  in  a  pint  of  alcohol. 
Dose,  a  teaspoonful. 

Take  silver  money;  it's  at  a  premium  there,  for 
Indians  will  work  or  sell  for  much  less  if  paid  in  coin, 
and  there's  absolutely  no  money  in  the  country.  Nor 
until  lately  was  there  any  use  for  money,  the  Indians 
didn't  know  it  had  any  value,  and  would  only  trade. 
Likewise,  take  pencils  and  paper.  At  Minook,  a  man 
came  aboard  who  told  me  the  miners  had  begged  his 
pencil  and  all  the  blank  pages  of  his  notebook.  They 
didn't  have  enough  paper  in  camp  to  record  another 
claim.  His  receipt  was  written  upon  a  dirty  scrap  a 


248        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

few  inches  square.  Take  powdered  ink.  It  will  not 
freeze,  and  you  can  add  water  as  you  need  it. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  cooking  utensils,  etc.  Then 
there  are  the  tent,  the  Yukon  cookstove,  sheet-iron, 
fold-up,  price  $15;  ropes,  a  coffee-mill,  etc.  These 
things  are  usually  bought  on  shares  with  your  partner. 

You  want  a  rifle  and  a  hunting  knife,  for,  although 
the  mosquitoes  drive  the  game  back  into  the  moun- 
tains in  the  summer,  in  winter  one  may  obtain  fresh 
meat  by  going  off  a  distance.  Large  game  is  plentiful 
on  Stewart  and  Indian  rivers.  Caribou  seems  especi- 
ally plentiful  about  every  three  years.  "The  year  the 
Arctic  sunk" — the  monotonous  years  are  told  off  so  in 
Alaska — game  was  sold  for  five  cents  a  pound,  one 
miner  said.  That  was  in  '89.  Guns  sell  readily,  as 
men  haven't  encumbered  themselves  with  them.  A 
man  aboard  ship  sold  his  30-30  Winchester  for  $75, 
and  found  he  could  have  got  more. 

Don't,  I  beseech  of  you,  make  yourself  ridiculous 
with  a  cartridge  belt  stuck  with  revolvers  and  bowie 
knives.  Bold,  bad  men  "don't  go"  in  Alaska.  This 
reminds  me  of  such  a  good  story  Frank  Densmore  told 
me ;  that  it  was  upon  himself  in  no  wise  detracted  from 
his  enjoyment  of  it.  He  is  one  of  the  pioneers  of 
Alaska,  and  first  left  his  Boston  home  for  the  West 
when  only  sixteen.  "I  had  a  youngster's  notion  of 
being  piratical,  and  ba-ad.  I  was  tall  and  very  strong, 
and  on  the  way  got  into  a  fight  with  a  man  and  whipped 
him.  Well,  when  we  reached  Denver  I  bought  a  buck- 
skin suit,  two  revolvers,  belt,  and — you  know  that 
border  ruffian  outfit.  I  was  swaggering  along,  doubt- 
less cutting  a  ridiculous  figure,  when  I  met  this  man. 
He  had  a  cowboy's  whip.  He  gave  me  a  thrashing 
which  did  me  good  and  has  lasted  me  ever  since. 
Bruised,  smarting,  and  all  but  crying,  he  left  me, 


WHAT  SHALL  I  PUT  INTO  MY  PACK  ?  249 

while  the  bystanders  jeered,  'Eh,  kid,  what  you  doing 
with  those  guns?'  'Turn  your  belt  around,  boy,'  etc. 
Well,"  added  Densmore,  "I  walked  straight  off  and 
sold  those  revolvers,  and  I've  never  owned  one  since." 
I  think  I've  mentioned  all  your  necessary  outfit,  but 
unless  you're  as  strong  as  a  burro  you'd  better  let 
somebody  else  be  pack-horse  for  you  to  the  mines.  A 
miner  I  met  paid  $160  for  packing  goods  that  cost  him 
$480.  Of  course,  the  price  is  governed  by  circum- 
stances, but  the  usual  charge  is  ten  cents  a  pound  in 
winter,  and  forty  cents  in  summer,  owing  to  the  dread- 
ful mire  of  the  trails,  the  mosquitoes  and  gnats,  and 
packing  everything  on  the  back,  while  in  winter 
freight  is  taken  by  dog-sled. 


I  have  mentioned  no  extravagancies,  no  "tender- 
feet"  unnecessaries.  A  number  of  miners  to  whom  I 
have  shown  this  approve  of  what  I  have  written,  in  fact, 
they  gave  me  the  data.  One  can  readily  see  that  even 
placer  mining,  the  "poor  man's,"  requires  considerable 
capital.  Everything  in  this  long  list,  too,  must  be 
purchased  ever)?-  year.  Take  notice,  too,  that  one  can- 
not even  work  for  wages  there  if  he  has  not  an  outfit ; 
he  is  not  hired  by  anyone  if  he  has  not.  His  employer 
may  be  a  millionaire,  but  he  has  only  enough  for  him- 
self to  eat.  No  man  is  allowed  to  go  into  a  store  in 
Alaska  and  buy  all  he  likes,  but  only  his  fair  share  for 
himself,  and  that  is  often  denied  him.  "I  want  ten 
sacks  of  flour" — "Can't  have  but  one,"  and  so  on.  If 
people  only  understood  these  conditions,  there  would 
not  be  such  armies  starting  for  Alaska,  most  of  whom 
will  return,  if  they  ever  return,  penniless,  physically 
broken  by  hardship,  discouraged  to  the  heart's  core, 
and  with  no  energy  to  strive  to  make  the  connections 


250        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

they  have  broken.  Their  families  will  be  impover- 
ished, suicide  will  be  frequent.  There  has  never 
before  been  such  a  universally  unconsidered  move- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   MINE    IS   MINE  ! 

It  must  be  a  happy  day  when  a  man,  new  to  the 
exciting  experience,  writes  that  sentence  to  the  dear 
stay-at-homes.  What  is  the  very  first  step  in  obtaining 
one?  so  many  anxiously  enquire,  that  I  have  decided 
to  devote  a  chapter  to  them.  Of  course,  those  who  go, 
soon  find  it  out,  but  they  wish  to  know  before  they 
start,  or  ought  to,  and  so  do  the  home  people,  and 
miners  have  little  time  for  letter  writing. 

Of  course,  you  know  everything  in  all  the  Klondike 
region  has  been  gone  for  months.  There's  no  more 
use  for  you  to  dream  of  its  gold  than  to  hope  for 
the  piles  of  gold  in  a  bank.  They  are  selling  sixteenths 
of  claims  at  big  prices.  The  smallest  portion  sold  so 
far  was  fifteen  feet  on  El  Dorado. 

To  locate  a  mine,  one  must  either  hang  around  a 
mining  town,  like  Dawson,  waiting  to  join  "a  rush"  to 
a  creek  where  prospects  have  been  found,  or  go  out 
into  the  solitary  mountains  and  begin  digging  on  some 
creek  which  looks  promising.  Supposing  you  were 
told  that  if  you  should  sink  a  hole  somewhere  in  your 
city  or  county  you  might  strike  gold.  Where  would 
3'ou  begin?  Then  think  what  it  is  to  face  the  whole 
wide  country  of  Alaska  to  strike  your  pick!  Still, 
there's  "color"  everywhere,  though  not  always  in  pay- 
ing quantities,  and  there's  no  reason  why  highly  rich 
mines  should  not  be  struck  in  our  own  possessions, 
although  probably  not  another  Klondike.  Such  a 
region  has  never  before  been  discovered,  and  will  be 
apt  to  remain  unique. 


252        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

Prospecting  is  difficult,  expensive,  blind.  It  is  done 
principally  in  winter,  when  one  can  haul  his  grub  and 
save  the  heavy  expense  of  packing.  But  a  team  is 
seven  dogs,  and  they  cost  from  $100  apiece  up.  The 
sled  costs  about  $25,  and  you  must  carry,  beside  your 
own  food,  three  fish  a  day  for  each  of  your  dogs.  Two 
usually  prospect  together.  One  runs  ahead  to  guide 
the  dogs,  the  other  steers  the  sleigh  behind ;  the  outfit 
rides  in  state. 

It  takes  from  ten  days  to  two  weeks  to  sink  a  pros- 
pect hole,  one  working  at  the  bottom,  one  on  the 
dump.  After  all  your  labor  you  may  find  nothing,  and 
this  may  happen  for  weeks,  or  a  whole  season.  Many 
men  have  been  in  Alaska  for  years  and  never  made 
more  than  enough  to  buy  the  next  year's  outfit,  some- 
times being  obliged  to  borrow.  Several  of  the  miners 
I  talked  with  have  spent  years  at  the  hardest  work, 
and  some  have  even  yet  not  "struck  it  rich."  If  a 
man  is  one  of  the  kind  who,  if  it  rained  soup,  would 
be  caught  out  with  only  a  fork,  he  will  miss  gold  in 
Alaska. 

But  'sposing,  as  the  children  say,  you  "struck  color" 
in  your  prospect,  the  discoverer  would  stake  two 
claims,  if  he  were  on  American  soil,  and  would  return 
for  supplies  and  "give  a  tip"  to  some  friend,  who 
would  pass  it  on  to  his,  and  so  there  would  be  a  "rush" 
to  the  creek.  And  when  a  man  realizes  that  a  minute's 
hurry  may  make  him  a  millionaire,  or  that  much  delay 
will  lose  his  golden  opportunity,  he  "stands  not  on  the 
order  of  his  going,  but  goes  at  once,"  often  without 
carrying  sufficient  food,  through  marrow-piercing  cold 
or  beating  rain,  without  shelter  or  rest,  pressing  for- 
ward to  the  verge  of  death  from  exhaustion.  "Fritz" 
told  me  he  had  never  recovered,  never  should,  from 
such  an  experience  when  he  staked  his  claim  on 


A  MINE  IS  MINE!  253 

Bonanza.  He  slept,  or  rather  did  not  sleep,  all  night 
on  the  bare  ground,  in  a  cold  rain,  and  was  hungry 
besides. 

If  miners  were  imaginative,  what  thoughts  would 
crowd  as  a  man  drove  his  stake.  Is  it  only  more  toil, 
privation,  expenditure,  or — the  miner's  expression  is 
full  of  unconscious  pathos — is  he  driving  a  home-stake? 

A  claim  must  be  staked  in  person,  by  man  or  woman 
not  under  eighteen.  No  one  but  the  discoverer  may 
stake  more  than  one  claim  on  a  creek,  or,  in  Northwest 
Territory,  in  a  whole  district,  but  he  may  purchase  as 
many,  of  course,  as  he  pleases.  Claims  are  usually  five 
hundred  feet  along  the  creek,  and  from  rim-rock  to 
rim-rock.  There  is  no  time  to  measure,  men  are 
crowding  upon  you  to  snatch  that  dream-million  from 
you;  for  mining  is  like  gambling — no  matter  how 
often  before  you  have  missed  fortune,  this  time  it 
surely  awaits  you.  Glacier  Creek  was  entirely  staked 
inside  six  hours,  and  one  hundred  men  reached  Vic- 
toria Creek  in  a  day,  though  there  are  but  twenty-two 
claims  on  it. 

Mines  are  numbered  from  "Discovery"  up  and 
down.  Long-legged  men  are  in  demand  to  pace  them, 
for  if  you  step  off  more  than  the  allowed  feet,  you  will 
simply  lose  the  surplus  when  it  is  surveyed,  but  if  you 
are  short,  so  is  your  claim,  and  "for  keeps,"  as  the 
boys  say.  In  this  case,  at  least,  the  meek  do  not 
inherit  the  earth.  From  Discovery,  claims  are  num- 
bered down  with  the  surplus  at  the  lower  end,  and  up, 
with  the  extra  feet  on  the  upper.  When  a  man  finds 
he  has  staked  more  than  is  allotted,  he  quietly  informs 
a  friend,  who  stakes  the  surplus ;  then  the  miner  buys 
it,  often.  This  accounts  for  one  claim  in  Klondike 
which  is  but  30x30  feet,  and  another  on  El  Dorado, 
6x500  feet. 


254        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

Stakes  bear  the  name  of  owner  and  date  of  claim. 
In  Klondike  claims  must  be  registered  with  the  gold 
commissioner  within  three  days  if  within  ten  miles  of 
his  office.  There  is  $15  registration  fee,  and  the  mine 
must  be  re-registered  and  fee  paid  every  year.  Men 
watch  claims  to  the  minute  to  "jump  them,"  if  the 
owner  lets  the  time  slip  by  unnoticed. 

The  mine  is  still  not  yours  unless  you  "represent," 
that  is,  do  so  many  consecutive  days'  work  in  it  at  a 
specified  time  of  year,  or  employ  it  done.  A  working 
day  in  summer  is  ten  hours,  in  winter  seven  or  eight. 
In  our  possessions,  all  these  details  are  settled  by  the 
miners  themselves  in  majority  ruling,  and  the  registrar 
is  one  of  themselves,  who  receives  a  fee  of  $2.50  for 
recording  each  claim. 

Now  that  the  mine  is  obtained,  how  is  it  worked? 
"Prospect"  holes,  6x8  feet,  are  sunk  50  feet  apart  to 
bed-rock.  The  top  stratum  is  almost  adamantine 
clay,  usually  several  feet  through.  The  hole  is  picked 
in  this  and  a  fire  of  cordwood  built  in  it,  which  thaws 
it  only  about  two  inches  in  a  night.  In  the  morning, 
the  man  at  the  bottom  digs  out  the  thawed  earth,  and 
hoists  it  to  the  man  on  the  dump.  No  gold  is  found  in 
this  clay.  Gravel  and  pay  dirt  are  next  struck,  and 
the  nightly  fire  thaws  out  about  a  foot.  The  ground 
thrown  on  the  dump  freezes  solid  in  half  an  hour,  and 
is  left  there  till  it  is  sluiced  when  the  water  runs  in 
the  spring.  Cordwood  varies  greatly  in  price,  but  is 
generally  about  $15  a  cord.  I  was  told  in  Dawson  it 
would  probably  sell  for  $60  back  in  the  mines  in  the 
winter.  Each  two  men  burn  about  thirty  cords  a 
winter,  so  here  is  another  expense.  The  distance  to 
bed-rock  varies  on  different  creeks,  and  even  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  same.  It  averages  fifteen  to  twenty 
feet  below  the  surface.  On  Victoria  Creek,  Klondike, 


A  MINE  IS  MINE!  255 

it  is  actually  but  eighteen  inches  to  bed-rock,  and  they 
can  work  both  winter  and  summer. 

No  blasting  is  done  in  Alaska ;  the  frozen  ground  will 
not  crack.  When  the  holes  are  all  sunk,  they  are  con- 
nected by  tunnels.  This  method  of  mining  is  almost 
the  only  one  employed  there.  It  is  called  "burning 
and  drifting. ' '  Fifteen  men  can  easily  work  out  a  claim 
in  a  year.  A  lay  means  furnishing  your  own  grub, 
and  working  without  wages  for,  generally,  half  in  the 
space  assigned.  A  sale  on  bed-rock  is  an  agreement 
to  pay  a  certain  amount  of  gold  dust  to  be  taken  from 
the  claim  transferred. 

Gold  is  "sluiced"  when  the  creeks  run.  The  sluice 
boxes  look  like  little  wooden  drains,  and  are  elevated 
so  as  to  make  a  pitch.  The  lumber  from  which  they 
are  built  costs  from  $300  to  $750,  and  even  $1,000  a 
thousand  back  in  the  mines,  for  it  must  either  be 
packed  long  distances  from  the  sawmills,  or  else  "whip- 
sawed"  by  two  men.  Decidedly,  even  placer  mining 
costs  money.  Still,  if  a  man  has  a  good  placer,  it  pays 
for  itself  as  soon  as  it  is  prospected.  It's  like  a  man 
pulling  himself  over  a  fence  by  his  bootstraps.  Why, 
about  three  years  ago,  "Alex"  McDonald  went  north 
without  a  dollar ;  now  he  has  millions,  not  wrung  from 
the  poor,  but  from  rich  old  Mother  Earth,  nor  piled  up 
by  creating  a  "corner"  to  the  ruin  of  many,  but  hon- 
estly dug  out  of  a  corner  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 
From  No.  30  El  Dorado,  Mr.  McDonald  took  $94,000 
out  of  a  strip  forty  feet  by  two  feet  deep.  As  an  old 
miner  said,  "A  fellow  has  to  mix  gravel  with  the  gold 
to  sluice  it. ' ' 

When  gold  is  required  during  the  winter,  it  is 
"panned."  The  pay  dirt  is  placed  in  a  broad,  shallow 
sheet-iron  pan,  which  is  then  filled  with  water.  The 
miner  gives  it  a  few  energetic  shakes,  and  the  gold, 


256        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

which  is  heavy,  falls  to  the  bottom.  Snow  has  to  be 
melted  for  this.  If  the  dust  is  very  fine,  it  is  thrown 
into  water  with  mercury,  which  combines  with  it, 
forming  amalgam.  Gold  "dust"  is  about  like  wet  corn 
meal,  "coarse  gold"  is  small  flakes,  "nuggets"  are 
lumps  of  any  size.  "Flour  gold"  is  not  found  there. 

"Rocking"  is  the  third  method  of  obtaining  the  gold. 
A  rocker  is  a  box  about  two  by  three  feet,  having  a  top 
tray  with  a  sheet-iron  bottom  pierced  with  holes.  The 
lower  part  has  an  inclined  shelf  covered  with  blanket. 
The  box  is  on  rockers.  The  miner  ladles  in  water  with 
one  hand,  and  rocks  with  the  other.  Nuggets  fall 
through  the  holes  first,  the  blanket  catches  the  coarse 
gold,  and  mercury  in  the  bottom  combines  with  the 
finest.  The  blanket  is  frequently  dropped  into  water 
containing  mercury,  which  reminds  me:  Washing 
miners'  flannel  shirts  is  twice  remunerative.  The 
laundress  in  Dawson  charges  fifty  cents  apiece  for 
cleansing  the  shirt,  and  probably  gets  that  much  more 
from  the  water.  Rocking  is  slow  work,  yet  on  Victoria 
Creek  nine  men  in  eight  days  rocked  out  $1,500. 

If  a  man  has  retained  any  one  of  his  five  senses  dur- 
ing the  recent  and  growing  craze,  he  can  readily  see  he 
would  be  a  fool  to  give  up  a  position  of  almost  any 
kind,  if  sure,  to  rush  off  to  Alaska  or  Klondike, 
especially  if  he  has  had  no  experience  in  mining  nor  a 
rough  life.  I  have  seen  men  come  puffing  and  shiver- 
ing into  the  house  after  shoveling  the  snow  off  a  short 
walk,  and  begin  grumbling  that  "a  boy  must  be  hired 
to  do  such  jobs,"  while,  as  soon  as  they  recovered 
breath  after  this  hard  work,  they  used  it  to  tell  you 
plans  for  getting  to  Klondike  in  the  spring.  Alaska  is 
no  place  for  tender  flowers  like  these.  There  is  nothing 
for  any  man  there  to  do  but  the  hardest,  roughest 
manual  labor,  such  as  the  commonest  day  laborer  does 


A  MINE  IS  MINE!  257 

in  the  States,  without  the  comforts  that  even  he  may 
return  to  in  the  evening.  No  professional  men  are 
needed.  There  are  already  scores  of  successful  phy- 
sicians and  lawyers  there  working  right  along  with 
people  they  would  never  meet  at  home.  It  is  the  most 
democratic  country  on  earth.  If  a  doctor  is  needed, 
one  of  them  is  almost  sure  to  be  in  camp.  If  not,  the 
towns  have  physicians  who  are  practicing. 

As  to  women,  my  advice  is,  generally,  don't.  Still, 
I  realize  the  futility  of  such  advice,  for  man  or  woman 
who  has  the  Klondike  fever  is  usually  beyond  hope. 
Like  the  fallen  horse,  "His  eyes  is  sot."  So  many 
women  have  come  to  see  me,  and  I  have  received  many 
letters  that  were  really  pathetic  in  their  anxiety,  from 
typewriters,  and  clerks,  and  boarding-house  keepers, 
etc.  I  read  it  all  between  the  lines, "their  colorless 
lives  and  monotonous  work,  for  enough  to  barely  sup- 
port them,  youth  passing,  and  nothing  for  the  future. 
They  have  read  of  that  Land  of  Promise,  they  feel  that 
they  could  bear  any  discomfort  and  hardship  for  a 
chance  in  life.  It  is  hard  to  quash  all  such  hopes,  but 
it  is  better  to  hear  the  hard  facts  here  than  there, 
when  every  cent  of  their  pitiful  earnings  is  gone. 
Nothing  but  the  hardest  of  work  is  obtainable  there  for 
women,  such  work  as  would  tax  the  strength  of  the 
stoutest  charwoman.  Washing  and  baking  are  the 
principal  things.  In  summer,  the  insects  are  almost 
unendurable,  and  in  winter  all  the  water  must  be 
obtained  by  melting  snow.  The  miners'  clothes  are 
filthy,  and  there  are  no  conveniences.  Baking  bread 
for  a  score  or  so  of  men  hungry  as  wolves,  one  loaf 
at  a  time  in  a  tiny  stove,  is  no  sinecure.  I  will  tell  you 
the  experience  of  one  little  woman  I  met  at  Circle 
City.  She  came  in  with  her  husband  over  the  pass, 
and  in  the  Spring  at  that.  She  wore  men's  clothes 


258        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

while  climbing.  They  were  two  months  getting  in. 
She  thought  her  troubles  over  when  she  reached  the 
gulch,  but  when  she  saw  the  shack  in  which  she  was  to 
live,  too  small  even  to  contain  her  stove,  she  sat  down 
and  cried.  Her  husband  became  ill,  they  had  not 
money  enough  to  get  out  of  the  country,  and  although 
unused  to  hard  work,  she,  womanlike,  rose  to  the 
occasion.  She  had  shed  her  tears,  so  that  they  no 
longer  blinded  her  to  what  lay  next.  She  took  in 
washing  for  the  "fancy  ladies,"  as  she  gravely  stated  it. 
I  think  when  "ladies"  has  reached  that  point,  that 
salesladies  and  scrubladies,  etc.,  will  be  content  to 
return  to  the  dignity  of  women.  "The  company 
brought  in  a  washing  machine  for  me,  my  husband 
could  turn  it  sometimes,  but  I  had  to  carry  and  lift  all 
the  water.  I  have  ironed  by  the  light  of  one  candle 
often  and  often  till  one  and  two  o'clock  at  night  and 
gone  to  bed  so  tired  that  I  could  not  sleep.  It's  such  a 
nervous  country  for  women,  too;  every  woman  in 
Alaska  looks  nervous.  I  charged  seventy-five  cents 
for  a  shirt  waist,  and  from  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  two 
dollars  a  dozen  for  towels,  but  miners'  towels  are 
something  awful,  and  soap  and  wood  are  expensive. 
I  paid  fifty  cents  for  a  little  package  of  starch  that 
sells  for  eight  at  home." 

"What  did  I  do  for  recreation?  Oh,  cleaned  the 
house  and  knit  and  mended  for  ourselves  and  the 
miners.  I  had  no  time  to  be  lonely,  and  of  course  I 
couldn't  associate  with  those  others  anyway.  They 
were  good  pay,  and  they  never  acted  badly  around  me, 
they  knew  I  was  respectable."  Yes,  indeed,  the  little 
brave  woman  bore 

"  The  dignity  of  labor,  the  long  pedigree  of  toil." 

Not  a  dance-house  creature  of  them  all  but  respected 
the  struggling  wife  in  her  heart.  She  had  been  wait- 


A  MINE  IS  MINE!  259 

ing  at  Circle  City  for  the  boat  to  go  to  Dawson,  and 
about  thirty  miners  who  were  also  waiting  begged  her 
to  get  their  meals,  for  the  once  populous  town  was 
then  empty.  So  she  entered  an  abandoned  restaurant 
and  cooked  for  them  all.  They  carried  the  wood  and 
water  for  her,  and  pounded  the  coffee  with  a  hammer, 
as  there  were  but  two  coffee  mills  in  town.  The  meals 
consisted  of  ham,  bacon,  and  sometimes  fish,  bread, 
coffee  and  canned  goods.  She  had  dishes  for  but 
eight,  so  they  ate  in  four  relays,  and  she  had  to  wash 
the  dishes  after  each  for  the  next.  Have  you  that 
pluck  and  endurance?  Then  you  will  make  money 
there.  A  woman  who  can  go  up  a  creek,  and  cook 
and  wash  for  the  men,  under  manifold  inconveniences 
and  discouragements,  can  easily  make  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week,  probably  more,  but  she  would  have  no 
help,  for  the  miners  would  be  at  their  picks.  They 
are  chivalrous  in  their  treatment  of  a  decent  woman, 
though,  and  generous.  If  she  satisfied  them,  and  that 
would  be  easy,  she  might  get  good  chances  to  invest 
her  earnings. 

In  Dawson,  if  she  had  capital,  a  woman  could  run  a 
boarding  house  at  big  profit,  but  everything  costs  so 
much  to  begin  with,  and  the  population  is  so  shifting. 
Of  dressmakers,  there  are  already  plenty.  There  is 
absolutely  no  need  of  clerks,  typewritists,  nor  anything 
but  manual  workers  so  far.  There  are  several  men 
bakers,  but  one  woman  makes  doughnuts  and  such 
things,  and  does,  they  say,  well.  If  a  woman  has  any 
taste  for  and  knowledge  of  gardening,  she  might 
benefit  by  reading  the  chapter  upon  agricultural 
resources. 

Of  course,  I  am  speaking  only  of  those  who  go  to 
make  money ;  more  are  going  now  than  before  to  make 
homes  for  their  husbands  who  have  been  exiled  for 


26o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

their  sakes.      It  will  be  small  and  poor  and  uncomfort- 
able, but  hear  Ruskin  voice  both  wife  and  husband : 

44  But  so  far  as  it  is  a  sacred  place,  a  temple  of  the 
hearth  watched  over  by  Household  Gods,  before  whose 
faces  none  may  come  but  those  whom  they  can  receive 
with  love, — so  far  as  it  is  this,  and  roof  and  fire  are 
types  only  of  a  nobler  shade  and  light, — shade  as  of  the 
rock  in  a  weary  land,  and  light  as  of  Pharos  in  the 
stormy  sea;  so  far  it  vindicates  the  name,  and  ful- 
fills the  praise,  of  home. 

"And  wherever  a  true  wife  comes,  this  home  is 
always  round  her.  The  stars  only  may  be  over  her 
head ;  the  glow-worm  in  the  night-cold  grass  may  be 
the  only  fire  at  her  foot :  but  home  is  yet  wherever  she 
is,  and  for  a  noble  woman  it  stretches  far  round  her, 
better  then  ceiled  with  cedar,  shedding  its  quiet  light 
afar,  for  those  who  else  were  homeless. ' ' 

Of  the  under  side  of  woman's  life,  I  hesitate  to  write, 
and  yet  somebody  should  speak  plainly.  Of  the  crea- 
tures who  always  flock  about  a  mining  camp,  like  buz- 
zards about  carrion,  there  is  little  to  say.  " Their 
steps  take  hold  on  hell, ' '  and  the  men  who  keep  pace 
with  them  must  be  going  the  same  way  and  at  the  same 
rate,  it  stands  to  reason.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  do 
anything  for  these  degraded  women,  and  if  men  who 
enjoy  their  society  would  only  confine  themselves  to 
it,  the  world  would  be  the  cleaner  for  it.  To  be  sure, 
there  have  hitherto  been  few  good  women  in  Alaska, 
but  what  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  said,  4  4 1  can- 
not have  a  dove,  therefore  I  will  be  happy  with  a 
scorpion?"  There  are  scores  of  the  lowest  grades  of 
prostitutes  in  Dawson  dance  houses,  who,  if  money 
could  make  them  rich,  poor  things,  would  be  rapidly 
growing  wealthy.  One  of  these  women  who  have 
bartered  home  and  honor,  peace  and  purity,  love  and 
little  ones  for  gold,  is  said  to  have  received  $600  in  one 


A  MINE  IS  MINE!  261 

day.  The  old,  old  question  rings  out,  "What  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  soul?" 

But  it  is  not  of  these  I  would  write ;  they  have  chosen 
their  own  way,  they  "go  to  their  own  place,"  and  their 
companions  among  men  will  accompany  them.  But  it 
is  shameful  the  way  these  "heathen"  women  are 
treated  by  the  "Christian  men,"  who,  many  of  them, 
have  left  wives  and  children  in  the  States.  It  is  so 
common  in  Alaska  that  no  one  thinks  anything  of  it. 
"Jim's  squaw"  is  a  recognized  feature  of  life  there. 
"Why  don't  you  get  a  sleeping  dictionary?"  inquired 
an  old  miner  of  a  young  man  who  was  remarking  that 
he  wished  he  spoke  the  language.  It  makes  white 
men's  responsibility  no  lighter  that  the  squaws  prefer 
them  to  their  own  people.  Indian  women  are  fond  of 
dress,  and  are  naturally  prepossessed  in  favor  of  being 
sure  of  something  to  eat.  Their  airs  and  graces  among 
their  people,  poor  things,  as  they  parade  their  gowns 
and  hats  and  sometimes  even  clump  awkwardly  around 
in  heavy  shoes  in  which  their  unaccustomed  feet  must 
ache  sadly,  are  very  like  a  child's.  They  are  usually 
treated  kindly  at  any  rate,  but  some  of  them  have 
brutes  for  keepers.  One  of  these  despicable  men 
brought  his  squaw  aboard  our  boat.  She  was  a  clean, 
decent-looking  girl,  and  had  been  to  a  mission  school, 
but  he  paid  no  attention  to  her,  and  when  she  left  the 
boat  with  her  baby,  he  did  not  even  bid  her  good-bye, 
though  she  watched  him  quite  pathetically  for  even  a 
look.  I  had  told  her  something  about  the  care  of  her 
baby,  and  she  said  diffidently  that  she  was  going  to 
leave  at  the  next  stop,  "but,"  she  added  quickly,  as 
if  to  reassure  herself,  "my  husband  is  coming  back  for 
me." 

Did  you  know  that   slavery  exists  in  the  United 


262        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

States?  Alaskan  girls  are  often  sold  by  their  parents. 
The  only  real  love  affair  among  the  natives  of  which  I 
learned,  terminated  in  an  elopement  at  Nulato,  as  the 
father  refused  to  give  his  daughter  to  one  of  her  own 
people  because  he  wished  to  sell  her  for  $100  to  a 
"civilized"  man;  I  do  not  quote  him.  A  few  men  at 
least  act  a  father's  part  to  their  children.  One  well- 
known  trader  has  sent  his  large  family  of  children,  as 
they  grew  older,  to  the  States  for  education,  but 
another,  equally  as  well  known,  allows  his  to  grow  up 
like  the  natives  around  him.  Many  a  man  who  has 
"struck  it  rich"  in  the  mines  of  Klondike  is  coming  out 
either  to  an  unsuspecting  wife  or  to  wed  some  innocent 
girl.  One  of  these  went  out  on  our  ship.  He  left  his 
squaw  at  Dutch  Harbor  to  take  another  boat  to  Sitka 
to  her  own  people.  He  said  he  was  going  to  return  to 
her,  and  perhaps  he  was.  One  thing  to  his  credit  was 
that  she  had  a  stateroom  and  he  had  her  sit  beside  him 
at  the  men's  table,  the  only  Indian  who  was  so 
allowed.  He  was  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty-five,  she 
must  have  been  ten  years  older.  He  was  rather  good 
looking;  she  was,  it  goes  without  saying,  homely, 
besides  being  lame  and  stupid  looking.  She  had  lived 
for  several  years  with  a  white  man  who  died,  and  she 
said  his  children  had  offered  her  a  home  back  in  the 
States.  She  was  said  to  have  $3,000  or  more  in  nug- 
gets. "How  can  he  so  demean  himself?"  a  woman 
remarked  to  me.  "He  does  not  demean  himself," 
I  replied,  "for  when  such  a  connection  is  possible  to  a 
man,  he  is  on  the  same  level  with  the  woman,  be  she 
what  she  may."  Does  such  a  man  never  regret  the 
"true  wife?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FT.  YUKON — THE   FLATS — CIRCLE   CITY 

I  was  sitting  alone  upon  the  deck,  not  thinking,  not 
even  dreaming,  only  idly  gazing  upon  the  swift  flowing 
Yukon,  the  only  busy  thing  in  sight.  It  was  a  drowsy 
afternoon.  The  monotonous  heartbeat  of  the  engine, 
puffing  with  its  exertions  against  the  strong  current, 
was  the  only  sound.  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  the 
steamer  was  doing  all  that  was  necessary,  and  that  even 
if  you  felt  disposed  to  labor,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
in  the  world  left  to  do.  It  is  this  that  makes  a  voyage 
up  the  Yukon  such  a  perfect  rest.  There  is  not  a  morn- 
ing paper  to  be  had,  were  all  Klondike  to  be  offered  for 
it — Alaska  is  one  country  where  gold  is  impotent. 
There  is  no  mail  to  be  read,  no  telegram  can  be 
received  nor  sent.  Wall  Street  is  as  unreal  as  the 
streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem;  the  only  "ticker"  is  the 
clock,  and  that  is  slow.  At  first  you  do  not  realize  all 
this,  then  it  worries  you;  but  sooner  than  you  could 
have  imagined  possible,  you  no  longer  expect  what  a  life- 
time has  accustomed  you  to.  I,  who  ran  for  elevated 
trains  in  Chicago,  knowing  full  well  that  others  were 
close  upon  their  track,  soon  resigned  myself.  Time, 
space  and  gold  are  "long"  in  Alaska;  home,  content, 
and  luxury,  *  *  short. ' ' 

But,  as  I  say,  you  soon  become  accustomed  to  isola- 
tion. The  affairs  of  nations  become  trivial ;  you  realize, 
perhaps  for  the  first  time,  that,  if  pushed  to  it,  the 
country  can  adjust  its  politics  in  your  absence;  your 
stay-at-home  private  business  appears  strangely  incon- 
sequential, and  even  your  immediate  family  grow 

263 


264        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

indistinct  before  your  mind's  eye.  It  is  as  if  death 
were  near.  Then  nothing  earthly  is  of  importance, 
and  we  wonder  how  such  slight  things  bound  us. 

As  I  sat  like  the  old  lady  in  church,  "jist  resting 
and  thinking  of  nawthing,"  some  one  called  to  me 
that  we  were  about  to  cross  the  Arctic  Circle  "there, 
where  the  Porcupine  River  empties  into  the  Yukon," 
1344  miles  from  St.  Michael.  This  is  the  Land  of  the 
Midnight  Sun.  In  summer  it  simply  swings  around 
the  Circle.  Less  than  ten  miles  further  is  Fort  Yukon, 
which  is  said  to  be  directly  upon  the  Arctic  Circle. 

That  morning  there  had  been  a  strangely  lonely 
funeral  at  the  post.  The  trader's  dogs  had  discovered 
a  ghastly  thing  floating  down  the  river.  Bloated, 
blackened,  gashed  by  obstacles  from  which  the  impotent 
hands  could  not  protect,  the  horrid  object  in  no  wise 
resembled  the  man  who  had  gone  out,  strong  in  body 
and  will,  to  search  for  the  yellow  metal  which  has, 
since  Time  began,  lured  so  many  millions  to  their 
deaths.  As  the  body  bobbed  up  and  down  in  the  water 
in  ghastly  mockery  of  play,  as  it  seemed,  the  dogs 
swam  out  and  dragged  it  ashore,  where  it  lay  polluting 
the  summer  day.  The  trader  spread  a  piece  of  tent 
cloth  upon  the  beach,  cut  a  sapling,  and  hooked  the 
dreadful  thing  upon  its  shroud.  Then  he  enclosed  it 
in  a  box,  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  sun 
shining  brightly  over  the  lonely  burial,  the  Anglican 
clergyman  read  the  service  for  the  unknown  dead,  and 
offered  a  prayer  for  those  in  a  far  country  who,  know- 
ing not  that  they  were  bereaved  slept  on,  while  two 
awed  strangers  consigned  their  dear  one  to  his  nameless 
grave  beside  the  Yukon.  An  old  superstition  says  that 
when  someone  steps  upon  your  grave-to-be,  a  shiver 
passes  through  you.  Did  no  tremor  come  upon  the 
unconscious  dear  ones  thousands  of  miles  away,  when 


FT  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY      265 

the  body  of  the  wanderer  sank  exhausted  into  its  bed? 
Did  no  vague  premonition  cause  them  to  look  away 
from  one  another  and  upward  through  the  crowded  air 
above  us,  which  to  dullards  is  entirely  void?  Think 
of  the  weary  waiting,  the  long  uncertainty,  the  pro- 
longed sorrow!  Nothing  gave  clew  to  identity.  'Twas 
but  another  of  many  such  tragedies  in  the  solemn 
solitudes  of  Alaska.  The  miner  had  gone  forth  upon 
his  last  prospect,  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  rain- 
bow. Did  he  find  there  treasures  which  neither  moth 
nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  or  did  he  enter  that  Undiscovered 
Country  with  hands  as  empty  as  he  left  this?  How 
questions  crowd  around  about  that  one  eternal 
question — "If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again, "  a  question 
unanswerable  by  the  wisest  of  earth  as  by  the  simplest. 

Old  Fort  Yukon,  by  the  way,  is  one  of  the  early 
settlements  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  Here,  in 
1846,  was  born  the  first  white  child  of  interior  Alaska. 
Her  father  was  a  factor  of  the  company.  She  is 
now  the  wife  of  H.  M.  Robinson  of  the  New  York 
Observer.  Here  lives,  too,  little  Louise  Yukona 
Beaumont,  the  six-year-old  daughter  of  the  trader, 
who  is  the  first  white  child  born  on  the  Yukon 
since  then.  When  her  mother  bravely  approached  the 
great  trial,  there  was  no  physician  short  of  Forty  Mile, 
and  the  nearest  white  neighbor  was  three  hundred 
miles  away.  So  the  suffering  woman  had  no  other 
attention  than  that  afforded  by  an  ignorant  squaw, 
drawn  toward  her  by  the  freemasonry  of  the  universal 
order  of  enduring  motherhood,  the  bravest  order  that 
the  world  has  ever  known  or  will  know. 

Robert  Kennicott,  the  naturalist,  of  whom  I  spoke 
in  another  place,  spent  the  winter  of  1860  and 
1 86 1,  I  think  it  was,  at  Fort  Yukon.  Near  by  the  flats 
begin  where  millions  of  birds  breed,  and  natural  history 


266        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

has  been    greatly    enriched    by  his    fowling  at  this 
place. 

Mr.  Kennicott's  account  of  the  earliest  goose -hunt 
of  the  year  is  so  interesting  that  I  quote  it  from  his 
report  to  the  Academy  of  Science,  Chicago : 

"About  the  first  of  May  the  earlier  migratory  birds 
begin  to  arrive,  and  grand  preparations  were  made 
for  the  goose-hunt,  which  is  the  great  sport  of  the  year 
at  this  post.  The  geese  pass  here  in  immense  num- 
bers. The  modus  operandi  of  the  hunters  is  to  make  a 
low  cabin,  or  blind  of  willows,  or  logs,  on  some  island 
or  point  where  the  geese  are  known  to  pass,  and  close 
to  a  piece  of  open  water.  In  this  the  hunter  stands 
and  when  he  sees  a  band  of  geese,  imitates  their  call, 
when  they  will,  generally,  if  not  too  high  and  he  calls 
well,  turn  and  come  to  him.  As  fast  as  any  geese  are 
killed,  they  are  'planted'  near  the  stand,  and  when 
there  are  a  number  of  these  decoys  and  a  good  caller, 
the  geese  will  actually  come  within  twenty  feet  of  the 
stand,  where  the  hunter  must  be  still  till  he  thinks  them 
close  enough,  when  he  rises  and  knocks  them  over. 
The  laughing  geese  and  the  common  large  Canada 
goose  are  the  most  abundant  here  in  spring.  There 
are  also  a  great  many  snow  geese,  and  a  miniature  of 
the  Canada  goose.  There  are  always  seen  a  few  flocks 
of  a  very  small  and  rather  bonnie  black  goose,  with  a 
white  cravat  on.  We  got  a  good  many  eggs,  which  I 
find  very  good  eating  if  the  embryos  haven't  got 
feathers  yet. ' ' 

Thrushes  thrill  the  very  air  at  Fort  Yukon  with  their 
wild,  sweet  song.  There  are  plenty  of  ptarmigan  at 
Fort  Yukon.  This  poor  defenseless  bird  is  a  beautiful 
example  of  the  wondrous  courage  that  motherhood 
bestows.  Ptarmigan  are  extremely  timid  birds,  yet  the 
female  has  been  known  to  allow  dogs  literally  to  tear 
her  to  pieces  rather  than  desert  the  eggs  she  strove  to 
guard.  Silly,  feeble,  heroic,  feathered  mother! 

Above  Fort  Yukon  the  river  broadens  into  many 


FT.  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY      267 

channels  and,  like  other  people  who  spread  out  too 
thin,  does  not  in  consequence  succeed  admirably  in  its 
real  business.  The  mountains  have  dwindled  to  dreary 
wastes  of  sand.  The  river  was  particularly  low  and  if 
we  had  not  had  a  captain  who  '*  could  run  a  steamboat 
on  a  heavy  dew"  we  should  have  shared  the  fate  of 
other  boats  that,  high  and  dry  upon  stretches  of  silt, 
were  summering  upon  the  Arctic  Circle.  This  captain, 
John  C.  Barr,  by  the  way,  is  a  most  unusual  man,  born 
in  Glasgow  of  a  fighting  Scotch  famity  who  left  him 
as  heirloom  a  Claymore  sword,  a  distinction  among 
his  countrymen.  He  came  to  the  United  States  a 
small  boy  and  was  brought  up  in  the  South,  yet  he 
fought  bravely  throughout  the  Civil  War  in  the  Northern 
navy,  probably  the  youngest  officer  in  it.  He  was  upon 
Admiral  Porter's  flagship  and  trained  the  men.  The 
brave  and  handsome  boy  was  a  great  favorite  with  the 
admiral,  who  gave  him  his  photograph.  When  but 
twenty-one,  Admiral  Lee  made  him  executive  officer 
of  his  flagship  Tempest.  Barr,  with  two  other  naval 
officers,  stood  close  to  General  Grant  at  the  critical 
time  when  the  fleet  ran  the  batteries  at  Vicksburg. 
He  refused  to  remain  in  the  navy  after  the  close  of 
the  war  and  has  always  ridiculed  '* Fourth  of  July" 
soldiers  unmercifully.  Watching  a  parade  once,  when 
the  pompous  peace-general  was  riding  a  curvetting 
horse  that  insisted  upon  traveling  on  the  bias,  Captain 
Barr  remarked  laughingly,  "That  man  thinks  himself 
Napoleon  and  all  his  marshals. ' '  Barr  became  pilot, 
then  captain,  upon  the  upper  Missouri,  when  that  river 
was  the  sole  means  of  communication  between  the 
pioneers  of  the  Northwest  and  the  world.  He  has  had 
many  an  exciting  adventure  and  many  a  hair-breadth 
escape  from  the  savage  Indians  which  were  the  Ish- 
maels  of  our  country.  Father  de  Smet,  in  the  world, 


268        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

cousin  of  the  king  of  Belgium,  heir  to  a  throne  and  a 
fortune ;  in  the  church,  missionary  to  the  Indians  for 
forty  years,  a  Jesuit,  was  a  friend  of  Captain  Barr,  and 
gave  him  what  is  probably  the  only  picture  of  him- 
self taken  after  entering  his  long  and  heroic  service. 
He  called  Barr  "son,"  though  of  a  Scotch  Presby- 
terian race.  The  memory  of  Father  de  Smet  is  apt  to 
set  the  captain  talking,  for  other  tnen's  heroisms 
excite  his  admiration.  Barr  has  traveled  widely, 
known  many  famous  people,  read  deeply  and  exten- 
sively. He  is  an  inventor  and  understands  intricate 
machinery  of  all  kinds.  There  is  nothing  about  a 
boat  and  its  engine  that  he  cannot  build  as  well  as 
operate.  He  possesses  a  range  of  information  which 
surprises  specialists  on  their  own  lines.  He  is  one  of 
the  fortunates  who  are  popular  with  both  men  and 
women,  and  not  the  least  of  his  charm  is  his  modesty. 
He  must  be  sought  and  drawn  out.  He  will  accom- 
plish the  work  of  half  a  dozen  men  and  demand  credit 
for  none.  He  devotes  his  leisure  in  the  long  Arctic 
night  to  studying  Latin  and  reading  Bacon's  Essays, 
Plutarch's  Lives,  and  the  like.  Captain  Barr's  influence 
over  the  men  is  most  unusual,  for  his  discipline  embraces 
himself.  "When  I  drink  and  carouse  and  idle,  you 
may,  every  man  of  you,"  is  his  rule.  Not  a  squaw  is 
allowed  near  their  winter  quarters,  the  men  attend  to 
their  business  and  save  their  money.  "John  C.  Barr 
is  the  most  perfect  man  I  have  ever  known,"  was  the 
deliberate  statement  of  a  man  of  wide  affairs,  accus- 
tomed to  judging  men.  Another  said,  "Barr's  a  fool, 
he's  so  absurdly  honest — but  we  all  like  him  for  it." 

For  seven  nights  during  our  trip  Captain  Barr  did  not 
touch  a  bed,  only  caught  cat  naps  on  *  *  easy  bits  of  river, ' ' 
instructing  the  pilots  to  waken  him  at  such  a  point,  for  he 
did  not  propose  to  have  another  boat  on  a  sandbar  when 


FT.  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY       269 

there  was  danger  of  scarcity  of  food  up  the  river.  He 
would  not  even  stop  the  boat  at  Minook  for  half  a  day 
that  the  passengers  might  rush  out  and  stake  mines — 
would  not  even  touch  for  fear  of  losing  his  crew.  He 
is  the  only  man  on  the  Yukon  that  the  Indian  pilots 
look  up  to.  When  he  first  ascended  the  whimsical 
river  he  took  matters — the  wheel  rather — into  his  own 
hands,  reading  the  water  as  a  printed  page  of  instruc- 
tions and  the  Indians  dubbed  him  "the  great  captain." 
He  has  a  faculty  in  dealing  with  these  shifty,  child- 
ish people  and  has  never  lacked  for  pilots  or  crew  even 
when  others  could  not  obtain  them.  And  the  Indian 
pilots  have  become  the  servant-girl  problem  of  the 
Yukon,  demanding  tremendous  pay  and  increasing 
privileges  even  to  "sitting  at  table  all  same  like  white 
man,  and  landing  the  boat  all  same  like  captain," 
which  one  pilot  insisted  upon,  together  with  $250  for 
the  trip.  He  didn't  get  them. 

Each  Yukon  boat  carries  several  pilots,  who  are 
generally  to  be  found,  when  not  asleep,  in  the  pilot 
house,  all  eagerly  scanning  the  river  and  ready  to 
spring  to  the  wheel  or  to  give  their  advice  to  the  wheels- 
man. They  smoke  and  visit  in  the  friendliest  way. 

The  whistle  calling  for  sounding  is  frequently  heard 
among  the  fiats  and  I  always  liked  to  watch.  A  man 
sprang  to  each  side  of  the  bow  with  line  or  pole  and 
called  his  sounding  alternately  to  the  man  on  watch 
upon  the  hurricane  deck,  who  passed  the  information 
along  to  the  captain.  One  of  these  men  had  the  fun- 
niest intonation  as,  raising  his  right  or  left  hand,  each 
finger  indicating  a  foot,  he  would  solemnly  and  sadly 
announce,  "T'ree  fut  six,"  "One  fad-om,"  and 
occasionally,  "No-o-o  bottom,"  the  first  word  pro- 
longed indefinitely,  the  second  entirely  slighted. 

As  one  of  the  miners  remarked,  "There  is  absolutely 


270        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

no  scenery  around  Circle  City."  It  is  hard  to  imagine 
more  forlorn  surroundings  than  it  has,  1394  miles  from 
St.  Michael.  A  short  time  ago  it  was  the  liveliest 
town  in  the  world,  now  it  is  the  deadest.  Circle  City 
was  also  the  largest  log  cabin  town  known.  Now  its 
nearly  seven  hundred  little  habitations  are  as  empty  as 
last  year's  birds-nests,  and  at  last  accounts  sheltered  just 
seven  people.  Miners  left  this  town  by  scores  every  day 
for  the  newly  discovered  Klondike,  yet  the  Circle  City 
district,  until  then,  was  considered  marvelous.  Gold 
on  Eagle  Creek,  for  instance,  assayed  $18.68  an  ounce, 
higher  than  any  found  in  Klondike.  Deadwood,  in  the 
Birch  Creek  district,  fifty  miles  from  Circle  City,  was 
especially  rich.  "  Johnny"  Howard  took  out  $20,000  in 
six  weeks  there,  an  average  of  eleven  ounces  a  man  a 
day.  Miller  is  said  to  have  obtained  $35,000  from  a 
place  30x100  feet.  Now  they  are  quite  un worked  because 
men  cannot  be  induced  to  mine  them.  For  lack  of 
"representation"  many  of  these  rich  mines  have  by  this 
time  become  legally  abandoned,  and  may  be  re-staked. 
Doubtless  many  others  are  as  ignorant  as  was  I 
about  the  reason  for  some  gold  being  worth  so  much 
more  an  ounce  than  other.  And  yet  I  should  have 
known  it  was  because  of  the  varying  proportions  of 
silver  or  copper  with  which  the  gold  is  combined.  It 
is  these,  too,  which  give  it  the  great  diversity  of  color 
so  noticeable  in  Alaska.  The  poorest  gold  found  there 
is  at  Cook's  Inlet,  where  it  is  very  light  in  color  and 
worth  from  $13  upward.  On  Napoleon  Creek,  a  short 
one  in  the  Circle  City  district,  gold  is  worth  nearly 
$19.  The  nuggets  found  on  Napoleon  are  invariably 
shaped  like  pumpkin  seeds,  some  of  them  perfect,  all  of 
them  smooth.  Bonanza  nuggets  are  bubbly;  those 
found  on  Homestake  Creek,  which  runs  into  Bonanza, 
are  entirely  different  in  color  and  invariably  flat  and 


THE    EQUIPAGE    OF   CIRCLE    CITY,    ALASKA. 


FT.  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY       271 

marked  like  ferns.  I  have  two  specimens  that  look 
artificial,  so  perfect  are  the  fronds.  Minook  gold  is  a 
beautiful  bright  yellow,  and  about  the  most  valuable 
on  the  Yukon ;  that  from  Miller  creek,  on  the  contrary, 
is  dark  brown,  resembling  rusty  iron,  and  would  be 
passed  by  by  a  '*  tenderfoot. "  Victoria  gold  is  the  color 
of  gold  leaf  and  the  nuggets  are  so  tiny  and  flat  that 
they  look  as  if  beaten.  A  miner  can  tell  almost  any 
nugget's  creek-home  by  its  color  and  formation.  A 
complete  collection  would  be  an  interesting  and  valu- 
able addition  to  a  mineral  cabinet.  Mr.  P.  B.  Weare 
of  Chicago  has  a  good  beginning  toward  such  a 
collection. 

The  two  palatial  houses  of  Circle  City  cost  respec- 
tively $20,000  and  $12,000;  but  are  nothing  but  plain, 
square,  two-story  log-houses,  unpainted  inside,  with 
the  walls  covered  with  white  cotton  cloth. 

The  Circle  City  theater  is  deserted  of  course,  and  its 
wooden  benches  as  empty  as  a  coquette's  heart.  It 
had  supported  a  stock  company  whose  motto  was, 
"What  man  dare,  I  dare,"  from  "Hamlet"  and  "Romeo 
and  Juliet"  to  the  broadest  of  farces  only  to  be  enjoyed 
by  the  sort  of  element  present.  The  last  New  Year's 
night  a  performance  had  been  given  for  the  benefit 
of  the  miners'  association.  It  lasted  all  night.  It  was 
called  a  minstrel  performance,  but  all  tastes  seem  to 
have  been  consulted.  It  is  astonishing  how  many  kinds 
of  people  go  to  make  up  a  mining  community.  A 
professional  tight-rope  and  trapeze  actor  was  one  of  the 
troupe  that  night.  A  sham  miners'  court  was  another 
attraction. 

Much  fun  was  abroad  on  the  streets,  too.  Every 
now  and  then  this  carriage  would  draw  up  before  a 
door  and,  willy-nilly,  the  householder  would  go  out  for 
a  drive.  This  equipage  was  not,  it  is  perhaps  needless 


272        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

to  state,  built  by  Studebaker.  It  was  hack,  express 
wagon,  town  band  wagon  and  hearse,  but  that  New 
Year's  night's  drunken  frolics  deprived  it  of  its  box 
and  the  carryall  had  dropped  into  a  state  of  innocuous 
desuetude,  when  I  photographed  it.  The  first  man  to 
die  in  Circle  City — and  he  died  by  hand,  was  borne  to 
his  last  narrow  home  in  this  cart,  drawn  by  his  fellow 
miners,  of  course,  there  having  been  no  horses  there. 

Circle  City  had  its  dancing  school,  too,  and  the  balls 
given  were — well,  they  were  not  monotonous.  They 
were  often  patronized  by  one  of  the  storekeepers  as 
floor  manager.  He  is  a  small,  slight,  curly-headed  little 
fellow  with  an  opinion  of  himself  in  no  wise  com- 
mensurate with  other  people's.  As  one  of  the  miners 
grumbled,  <4'T wasn't  fair  to  turn  us  great,  homely, 
standard-two-yard  fellows  in  with  a  pretty  little  man 
like  him,  'specially  when  we  were  dressed  on  the 
installment  plan.  You  see  a  fellow'd  come  up 
and  say,  'Goin'  to  the  dance?'  'No?  Well,  lend  me 
those  pants ' — trousers  aren't  worn  on  the  Yukon. 
Then  he'd  go  to  another  that  hadn't  worn  out  his 
home  clothes  and  say,  *  Here,  you're  not  a  dancer, 
cough  up  that  coat.'  P'raps  he'd  have  to  go  'way  up 
country  'fore  he'd  strike  some  lightish  shoes  that  'd 
fit.  When  a  man  finally  got  himself  together  he'd  feel 
quite  traveled  and  cosmopolite. ' ' 

At  Circle  City  lives  "Jack"  McQuesten,  one  of  the 
most  widely  known  and  most  popular  men  in  Alaska. 
Twenty-four  years  ago  Mr.  McQuesten  came  from 
Oregon,  but  wants  no  other  home  for  the  rest  of  his 
life  than  Alaska.  He  insists  the  climate  is  delightft 
and  that  he's  homesick  every  time  he  takes  a  trip 
the  States.  A  picture  was  taken  as  he  sat  in  th< 
sun  before  his  store,  the  just-erected  United  Stat 
mail  box  embracing  the  opportunity  to  be  photc 


PIONEER  '"  JACK  "    MC  QUESTEN. 


FT.  YUKON— THE  FLATS— CIRCLE  CITY       273 

graphed  in  the  background.  Mr.  McQuesten  was  a 
pioneer  pioneer,  and  wears  a  handsome  gold  watch  and 
charm  presented  him  by  the  order.  He  has  been  a 
friend  in  need  and  deed  to  many  a  miner,  and  many  a 
man  would  never  have  made  his  homestake  but  for  the 
patient  kindness  of  "Jack"  McQuesten,  as  everybody 
in  Alaska  calls  him. 

Above  Circle  City  the  scenery  again  becomes  glo- 
rious. As  I  was  sitting  watching  the  mountains,  a  tall, 
rather  ungainly  miner  came  to  me  and  said  naively, 
4 'It's  so  long  since  I've  spoken  to  a  lady,  may  I  not 
talk  with  you  a  little  while?"  I  was  pleased  by  the 
frank  address  and  the  keen  look  and  we  had  a  delight- 
ful chat.  He  was  full  of  ideas  and  longing  for  new 
books.  He  mentioned  "Trilby."  I  told  him  "Trilby" 
was  no  more,  nor  the  man  who  created  her,  and 
happened  to  say  that  I  considered  "Peter  Ibbetson" 
much  superior  in  many  ways.  He  had  never  read 
the  book,  so  I  told  him  its  motive.  "Ah,"  he  said, 
appreciatingly,  "how  I  should  like  to  'dream  true,'  to 
dream  back  into  my  home  and  old  life.  Do  you  know, 
I  was  thinking  yesterday  that  in  time  not  far  distant, 
a  famous  astronomer  in  Mars  will  perfect  a  great 
telescope.  He  will  happen  upon  a  friend  some  after- 
noon and  will  say,  '  By  the  way,  I've  finished  my  lens, 
come  up  tonight  and  I'll  show  you  some  wonderful 
sights. '  Well,  that  night  they  will  turn  the  telescope 
our  way  and  the  astronomer  will  say:  'See  that  insig- 
nificant little  planet  up  there?  That's  called  The  Earth 
because  the  silly  inhabitants  think  their  pea  is  the 
only  sphere  worth  rolling.  Now  look;  there  are 
their  continents  and  there  is  a  country,  frigid  and 
burning  and  lonely  and  apart,  called  Alaska.  Now  in 
all  other  countries  and  states  there  are  great  insane 
asylums,  but,  though  crowded,  they  are  insufficient, 


274        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

so  there  is  a  whole  great  country  given  over  to  the 
worst  cases.  Now  and  then,  some  poor,  insane  creature 
comes  to  his  senses  in  those  awful  solitudes  and,  in 
wondering  joy,  escapes  from  the  land  and  hastens  back 
to  his  home ;  but  most  cases  are  incurable.  They  just 
suffer  along,  poor  devils,  forgetting  their  former  life 
quite,  or  recalling  it  like  a  dream. ' 

1  * l  But  why  do  they  choose  this  desolate  land?'  inquires 
his  friend. 

"  'Now  this  is  the  strangest  part  of  it!  With  my 
wonderful  new  telescope  you  can  see  some  rugged 
gulches  and  holes  here  and  there  along  old  river  beds. 
These  poor  creatures  spend  their  time  digging  hard  fot 
lumps  of  a  yellow  metal  they  actually  think  valuable, 
more  worth  than  home  and  love  and  comforts  and 
variety ! ' 

**  'How  preposterous!  No  wonder  you  say  most  of 
them  are  incurables.  But,  poor  things,  poor  imbecile 
sufferers. '  And  I  agreed  with  them  with  all  my  heart. 
Since  I  heard  them  I  feel  my  case  is  not  entirely  hope- 
less, because  I  could  still  understand  their  view." 

I  forgot  to  ask  this  miner's  name.  If  I  knew  it,  I 
should  be  pleased  to  send  him  this  little  book  in  mem- 
ory of  our  pleasant  chat  that  Summer  day  under  the 
blue  sky  of  faraway  Alaska.  Should  he  happen  to  see 
this,  and  will  write  to  me  care  of  my  publishers,  I  will 
send  it. 

It  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me,  this  man's  jest- 
ing but  half -bitter  parable.  It  is  all  well  enough  if 
the  man  drives  his  homestake  at  once  and  goes  out 
with  a  million,  but  oh !  these  others — this  great  ma- 
jority of  Others — what  receive  they  in  recompense? 


CHAPTER  XX 

BEYOND  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE 

Beyond  Circle  City,  Charley  River  and  Seventy 
Mile  the  scenery  is  glorious.  Abruptly  rise  the  moun- 
tains from  the  river  and  roll  tumultuously  to  the  very 
horizon.  * '  Shure, ' '  said  Pat,  as  he  gazed  upon  them, 
"there's  so  much  land  in  this  country  that  they  have 
to  pile  it." 

Among  the  mountains  the  great  Yukon  winds  rest- 
lessly. It  reminded  me  of  our  life  river  fast-flowing, 
for  often  there  appeared  to  be  no  egress.  How  many 
times  do  we  seem  to  have  come  to  the  end  of  the  way 
before  a  mountain  of  difficulty ;  yet  if  we  steam  right 
along,  behold  a  sudden  turn,  an  unexpected  opening, 
and  our  river  of  life  broadens  out  in  new  beauty. 

Near  the  boundary  line  are  a  curious  eddy  and  the 
Tag-tag  rapids,  well-named,  too,  for  the  busy  water  is 
here  utterly  frivolous,  giggling,  running  hither  and 
thither,  playing  tag  in  most  unseemly  fashion.  Join- 
ing in  the  fun  is  a  near-by  mountain  appropriately 
named  Ring-streaked-and-striped.  It  resembles  the 
balmoral  skirt  of  a  Titaness.  It  hangs  from  the  top 
in  huge  folds  and  is  very  full  at  the  bottom,  where  it  is 
striped  some  distance  up  in  regular  bands  of  black  and 
gray.  The  next  cliff  has  two  white  lines  extending 
several  hundred  feet  parallel,  like  a  railroad  track. 
This  sandcliff  is  honeycombed  and  filled  with  martin 
nests.  Somewhere  on  this  part  of  the  river  rises  a 
mountain  which  bears  a  long  white  sword  with  cross- 
hilt,  glittering  under  the  Arctic  sun.  I  tried  my  hand 
at  naming  something,  so  although  you  will  probably 

never  see  this  mountain's  appellation  upon  any  map, 

275 


276        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

it  is  Escalibar.  The  unique  Kate  Field  once  told  me 
a  story,  which  her  bright  manner  made  extremely 
funny,  a  story  affording  a  glimpse  into  the  domestic 
life  of  our  ancestors  the  Adam-ses,  first  of  the  name. 
It  seems  they  were  taking  a  constitutional  in  their 
garden,  Eve  hanging  languishingly  upon  her  hus- 
band's arm — 'twas  during  their  honeymoon — and 
Adam  having  the  manly  air  of  know-it-all  which  seems 
to  have  been  masculine  from  the  first.  They  were  amus- 
ing themselves  with  naming  another  lot  of  animals. 
"Now,  Adam  dear,  what  shall  we  name  this  horrid 
homely  little  hopping  thing?"  questioned  Eve,  simper- 
ing. * 4  Why,  love, ' '  replied  Adam  rather  brusquely — he 
had  not  yet  accustomed  himself  to  the  feminine  habit 
of  asking  needless  questions — "since  it  is  a  toad,  why 
not  call  it  a  toad?" 

When  I  was  a  child,  I  thought  the  boundaries  of 
states  and  countries  as  plain  as  those  upon  the  maps 
of  the  old  Cornell  geographies.  I  have  seen  but  two 
that  appeared  natural.  One  is  the  point  at  which  the 
corners  of  Colorado,  Utah,  New  Mexico  and  Arizona 
touch.  It  is  marked  by  a  stone,  so  that  it  is  possible 
to  be  there  in  four  states  at  once.  The  other  is  the 
boundary  line  established  by  William  Ogilvie,  dominion 
land  surveyor,  between  Alaska  'and  Northwest  Terri- 
tory. For  a  long  distance  it  runs  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  cut  through  underbrush  like  a  roadway, 
blazed,  marked  by  cairns.  From  the  river  you  may 
plainly  see  it,  1,560  miles  from  St.  Michael,  climbing 
the  mountains  to  divide  the  disputed  claims  of  the  Forty- 
Mile  district.  There  lives  a  queer  character,  Sam  Patch. 
He  is  a  rabid  American,  always  flying  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  which  nearly  streams  over  the  boundary  line. 
He  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  found  that  his  potato 
patch  was  entirely  in  "God's  Country."  I  verily 


BEYOND  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE         277 

believe  he  would  have  uprooted  such  part  as  might 
have  flourished  upon  Canadian  soil. 

Among  Americans  there  has,  very  naturally,  been 
considerable  dissatisfaction  with  the  location  of  the 
boundary  line,  which  has  cut  off  the  larger  and  richer 
portion  of  the  Forty-Mile  district  mines.  This  would 
have  been  more  loudly  expressed  were  it  not  for  the 
fact  that  it  was  established  by  William  Ogilvie, 
a  man  honored  by  everyone  who  is  fortunate  enough 
to  know  him,  and  in  Alaska  and  Klondike  that 
includes  nearly  everybody  in  the  country.  He  is  a 
man  of  absolute  and  unquestioned  integrity,  only  a 
fool  would  doubt  that.  So  sensitive  is  he  upon  this 
point  that  he  leaves  the  Yukon  without  a  single  mine 
or  the  smallest  interest  in  one,  although  he  might 
honestly  be  a  multi-millionaire.  No  miner  but  would 
gladly  have  given  him  the  first  ** pointer  for  a  rush," 
for  every  one  that  has  occurred  during  the  years  he 
has  been  in  the  country.  But  Mr.  Ogilvie  has  a 
Roman  idea  of  honor.  He  was  there  to  survey  an 
international  boundary,  no  one  should  be  able  to  say 
that  any  personal  considerations  affected  his  findings. 
The  miners  have  striven  time  and  again  to  force  gifts 
of  parts  of  rich  mines  upon  him.  He  has  invariably 
declined.  They  have  even  tried  to  "salt"  pans  of 
gravel  for  his  washing,  when  a  number  have  been 
invited  to  pan  for  "gold.  Even  then  he  has  insisted 
upon  choosing  his  pan,  for  the  custom  is  to  give  the 
gold  to  those  invited  to  wash  it.  In  this  day  and 
generation  such  a  high  sense  of  honor  is  enough  in 
itself  to  render  a  man  exceptional.  Besides  this,  Mr. 
Ogilvie  is  charming  company,  keen,  witty,  a  royal 
story-teller  and  a  good  mimic.  He  is  full  of  fun  and 
utterly  unaffected,  though  a  scientific  man  of  no  mean 
attainments.  He  never  drinks  and  his  life  compels  the 


278        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;   ALASKA 

respect  of  all  men,  yet  he  is  thoroughly  liked,  as  well 
as  respected,  by  the  rough  miners  with  whom  he  is 
associated.  No  man  is  more  ready  to  do  one  a  favor. 
He  has  surveyed  whole  creeks,  refusing  a  cent — per- 
haps a  pinch  of  dust  would  be  more  appropriate  in 
speaking  of  a  country  where  cents  are  less  common 
than  fortunes.  He  would  take  only  his  actual  expenses 
from  the  miners.  Mr.  Ogil vie 's  merry  eyes,  successful 
dialect,  and  manner  of  enjoying  it  all,  are  irresistible 
as  he  tells  his  stories.  He  enjoys  a  joke  even  upon 
himself  and  told  me  with  appreciation  of  his  difficulty 
in  keeping  an  Indian  guide  whom  he  had  allowed  to 
look  through  his  telescope.  The  native  stoutly  asserted 
that  a  man  who  could  see  stars  in  the  daytime  didn't 
need  him  to  show  the  source  of  a  river. 

Mr.  Ogilvie  is  apt  in  description  of  people.  In  talk- 
ing to  me  about  one  man  he  said,  *  *  He  has  but  one  idea 
and  can't  see  Mount  St.  Elias  in  the  way  when  he's 
thinking  it." 

I  learned  from  Mr.  Ogilvie  the  length  of  a  "pipe." 
It  is  from  five  to  seven  miles.  Three  and  a  half 
"pipes"  make  a  "spell."  These  are  common  terms 
along  the  Mackenzie  and  wherever  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company  has  been.  Among  the  voyageurs  smoking  is 
as  universal  as  eating  and  the  recognized  places  for 
smoking,  or  lengths  between  puffs,  are  pipes.  In  fact, 
upon  the  rivers  where  travel  was  common  the  call  to 
stop  rowing  came  from  the  steersman  as  "Illume!" 
meaning  to  light  pipes.  It  is  curious,  the  information 
gained  among  different  peoples  from  such  terms. 
Among  the  Burmese- the  word  for  mile  means  "to  sit," 
the  distance  he  considers  it  necessary  to  travel  before 
resting.  Speaking  of  pipes,  in  Alaska  the  fibula  of  the 
crane  is  often  used  for  a  pipe  stem. 

Mr.   Ogilvie  has  an  invaluable  collection  of  photo- 


BEYOND  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE   279 

graphs,  about  4,000,  which  he  has  taken  throughout 
the  Yukon  country.  Scores  he  has  enlarged.  Many 
of  these  suggest  delightful  anecdotes.  It  is  a  pity 
that  he  does  not  steal  time  from  his  busy  life  to 
write  these  down.  Even  his  official  reports  are  inter- 
esting. I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  discovered  any 
suggestive  fossils  or  remains  of  any  kind.  Mr.  Ogilvie 
replied  that  he  had  found  a  piece  of  moosehead  deep  in 
drift,  and  in  pay-streak,  eighteen  feet  below  the  surface 
on  El  Dorado,  two  buffalo  horns,  worn  on  one  side 
from  scooping,  and  near  by  the  skull  of  an  elk.  It  is 
notable  that  with  his  wide  experience  among  the  miners 
of  that  entire  region,  Mr.  Ogilvie  saw  but  two  gold 
crystals,  and  those  but  partially  crystallized. 

*  *  Squaw  Rock ' '  is  twenty-four  miles  beyond  the  bound- 
ary. At  Fort  Cudahy,  1,596  miles  from  St.  Michael — 
St.  Michael  for  Alaska  is  like  that  other  post — 

"Each  man's  chimney  is  his  golden  milestone, 
The  spot  from  which  he  reckons  every  distance." 

At  Cudahy,  I  started  to  say,  the  climax  of  the  beautiful 
scenery  of  the  Yukon  is  reached.  The  now  abandoned 
barracks  of  Fort  Constantine  nestle  down  amid  the 
loveliness,  and  the  dark  mountains  are  silent  and  stern 
below  the  rose-colored,  snow-patched,  cloud-mountains 
above  them.  Until  last  winter,  Fort  Constantine  was 
headquarters  for  the  Canadian  mounted  police  who 
have  now  removed  to  their  barracks  near  Dawson.  As 
our  boat  approached,  its  American  colors  dipped  thrice 
to  the  Union  Jack  upon  the  flagstaff  ashore,  and  the 
salute  was  returned.  As  we  came  up,  the  inspector 
of  mounted  police  came  toward  the  boat.  Tan  boots 
laced  to  the  knees,  yellow  stripes  down  the  tight 
trousers,  a  Scotch  cap  set  at  a  wondrous  angle  upon 
the  head — it  must  have  been  kept  on  by  suction,  the 


280        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

cap  I  mean — and,  you  will  never  believe  it,  a  monocle ! 
the  only  one,  let  us  hope,  in  the  wild  and  woolly  West. 
The  mounted  police  under  rule  of  Captain  Constan- 
tine  have  done  most  effective  work,  even  with  canoes 
for  mounts.  Next  summer  they  will  have  a  small 
steamer  which  will  render  their  protection  even  more 
valuable.  Strange  that  our  government  makes  no 
provision  for  its  citizens.  It  was  at  Cudahy  we  saw 
the  moon  again,  for  weeks  it  had  not  been  dark  enough 
to  perceive  it,  or  any  stars.  One  of  the  ladies  stationed 
at  the  fort  said  she  had  seen  several  moons  at  once 
there  of  an  Arctic  night,  seven  upon  one  occasion. 
What  would  the  premonitions  of  Caesar  have  been  over 
seven?  He  would  probably  have  heeded  Calphurnia. 
Three,  I  think,  was  the  limit  then.  Speaking  of  Caesar 
reminds  me  of  a  miner  I  met  who  had  succeeded  in 
buying  a  disreputable  and  cheap  volume  of  Shake- 
speare for  five  dollars.  He  said  that  he  was  "simply 
hungry"  for  Shakespeare  and  had  been  "reduced  to 
reading  the  Bible." 

The  trading  post  Cudahy  and  Fort  Constantine  are 
on  one  side  of  Forty- Mile  creek,  where  it  empties  into 
the  Yukon ;  Forty  Mile  is  on  the  other,  about  two  miles 
away.  It  is  "forty  miles"  from  the  old  and  now 
abandoned  Fort  Reliance  near  Dawson.  The  creek 
is  a  river  250  miles  long,  with  a  delta  of  seventy  miles 
upon  which  anything  in  the  way  of  vegetables  grows 
like  mushrooms. 

The  town  of  Forty-Mile  was  also  the  liveliest  of 
mining  towns,  its  day  being  before  Circle  City  boomed. 
It  is  said  "Bob"  Ainsley  received  $20,000  for  a  lot 
there  which  could  now  probably  be  bought  for  an  ounce. 
Fortunes  have  been  made  here  as  at  Dawson,  and  by 
men  who  had  no  better  reason  for  coming  than  a 
young  Chicagoan  I  met.  His  father  was  a  rich  man 


BEYOND  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE         281 

who  had  made  his  own  money  and  was  incessantly 
telling  his  son  how  hard  he  had  worked  when  the  son's 
age.  Then  the  young  man  let  a  careless  remark  fall 
about  having  a  notion  to  try  his  luck  on  the  Yukon,  so 
a  paper  mentioned  that  he  was  going  to  Alaska.  That 
settled  it,  he  went.  Another  man,  a  contractor  in 
Charlestown,  W.  Va.,  became  "Klondiked."  He 
suddenly  decided  to  go  and  started  within  an  hour,  arriv- 
ing just  twenty  minutes  before  the  ship  sailed.  A  lady 
told  me  of  a  trip  she  took  partly  up  Mount  Tacoma. 
On  the  way  she  and  her  husband  stopped  for  refresh- 
ment at  the  little  home  of  a  German.  He  seemed 
always  to  have  been  there  and  they  spoke  between 
themselves  of  his  contentedly  dying  there,  rather  en- 
vying his  fixity  of  life.  This  was  in  the  afternoon. 
At  8  o'clock  in  the  evening  some  men  dropped  in  to  the 
German's  cabin  and  began  talking  Klondike.  At  u 
o'clock  of  the  same  night  he  started  down  the  mountain 
with  them  on  his  way  to  Alaska !  Why  this  gold  fever 
affects  men  physically,  the  pulse  quickens — do  you 
know  the  worst  form  of  yellow  fever  is  gold  fever?  It 
is  insidious,  contagious,  epidemic,  only  to  be  allayed 
homeopathically.  Is  it  not  suggestive  that  gold  is 
found  in  such  hard  places,  and  that  for  love  of  it  many 
people  lose  honor  so  that  a  saying  like  this  is  believed 
by  the  majority — "There  is  no  place  invincible  wherein 
an  ass  loaded  with  gold  may  not  enter. " 

On  a  little  island  close  to  Forty  Mile  is  the  home  of 
a  strange  and  learned  man,  Bishop  Bompas  of  the 
English  church.  He  is  to  Northwest  Territory  what 
Hinman  was  to  the  Sioux.  The  bishop  speaks  all 
Indian  languages  thoughout  the  country  even  to  the 
Mackenzie  River,  and  "will  only  talk  to  a  white  till 
a  Siwash  happens  along. "  A  man  of  deep  and  varied 
learning,  he  has  affiliated  himself  with  the  filthy 


282        THE  RAINBOW'S  END;    ALASKA 

Indians  to  a  degree  astonishing.  Bishop  Bompas,  by 
the  way,  is  a  son  of  "Sergeant  Buzfuz,"  of  Pickwick 
Paper  fame.  He  came  to  Northwest  Territory  in 
1842.  In  1878,  he  and  his  wife  went  to  British  Co- 
lumbia on  dog  sleds  and  snowshoes  to  settle  some 
church  matters,  a  long  and  perilous  journey.  Offered 
passage  to  London  many  times  he  refused  it  because 
he  couldn't  leave  his  Indians  and  was  afraid  of  being 
drawn  away  from  the  work  to  which  he  had  conse- 
crated himself.  For  twenty-five  years  he  and  his  wife 
ate  absolutely  nothing  but  fish.  They  were  allowed 
fifty  pounds  of  flour  and  some  tea  once  a  year,  and  it 
was  six  months  on  the  way  by  dog  sled.  They  used 
flour  only  on  anniversaries  and  high  holidays.  When 
visiting  the  missions  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Bompas  were 
obliged  to  go  separately  as  there  was  not  extra  food 
enough  for  two.  Both  have  known  what  it  is  to  be 
genuinely  hungry  and  cold.  It  is  probably  these 
things  that  make  the  old  man  so  peculiar  about  house- 
hold affairs  now  that  need  for  worry  has  passed.  He 
always  carries  the  key  of  the  pantry  and  deals  out 
stores  as  if  every  ounce  were  next  to  the  last. 

Bishop  Bompas  is  one  of  the  few  who  love  learning 
for  its  own  sake.  With  him  it  is  no  love  of  show,  of 
preferment,  of  outstripping  another,  of  fame.  He  is 
said  to  be  one  of  the  finest  Oriental  scholars  in  the 
world,  and  to  know  enough  dead  languages  to  be  able 
to  talk  with  almost  any  shade  in  Hades  in  his  own 
tongue.  Bishop  Bompas  is  author  of  a  number  of 
books,  one  of  which,  "Bible  Sights  in  Arctic  Lands," 
should  be  especially  interesting  at  this  time  when 
everyone  is  looking  from  Yukon  to  Cuba  and  from 
Cuba  to  Yukon,  as  from  circle  to  circle  in  a  two-ringed 
circus. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  END  OF  THE   RAINBOW,  AND    SUNDRY   POTS  OF  GOLD 

Once  upon  a  time,  when  we  were  children — I  mean 
little  children,  for  really  grown-up  men  and  women 
are  very  rare — we  used  to  lay  our  tired  little  heads 
upon  our  pillows  and  straightway  journey  to  the  Land 
of  Nod.  In  that  country,  the  be-eautifulest  and  wonder- 
fulest  things  were  quite  common.  The  bushes  which 
bordered  the  wayside  hung  with  great  bunches  of 
butter-scotch,  the  rocks  were  of  "peppermints,"  and 
the  streams  of  molasses !  Oh,  it  was  such  a  beguiling 
country,  but  as  we  strove  to  eat  and  pocket  these 
delights  at  the  same  time,  we  heard  a  faraway  voice 
which  drew  nearer  till  we  waked  to  hear,  * '  Come,  chil- 
dren, get  up  and  shovel  away  the  snow. ' '  And  it  was 
only  a  dream.  There  was  nothing  whatever  in  our 
small  clenched  hands,  and  the  fair  Land  of  Nod  had 
faded  into  the  everyday  world  where  we  had  to  run 
errands,  or  chop  wood,  or  dig  in  the  garden  or  water 
the  grass  for  a  stingy  cent. 

But  to  most  of  us  dreams  come  no  more,  and  if  they 
do,  we  dimly  know  that  we  dream,  and  are  not 
deluded  by  the  gifts  sleep  brings.  Too  often  have  we 
wakened  to  find  our  tired  hands  empty.  The  bound- 
aries of  the  Land  of  Nod  have  been  disputed  by  no 
nation,  and  the  mariner  drifts  without  a  chart  on 
Slumber  Sea.  But  to  many  thousands  Klondike  is  the 
grown-up  Land  of  Nod.  They  half  expect  nuggets  to 
grow  like  butter-scotch  on  bushes,  to  lie  atop  the 
ground  like  peppermint  rocks,  to  float  in  creeks  like 
golden  syrup.  They  seem  to  think  that  gold  dust 
swirls  about  in  the  streets  of  Dawson  if  but  a  summer 


284         THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

breeze  arises.  These  will  waken  to  a  hoarse  voice 
calling,  "Come,  men,  time  to  shovel."  And  it  won't 
be  home,  dear  old  home,  but  Alaska,  and  they  must 
trudge  over  the  mountains,  chop  wood,  dig  and  sluice 
the  gold  which  provides  few  comforts  and  no  luxuries. 

To  hear  men  talk  of  Dawson  and  yearn  to  reach  it, 
you  would  think  it  the  gateway  of  heaven.  Did  men 
strive  to  enter  the  latter  with  a  tithe  the  zeal  and  per- 
sistence, this  earth  would  be  a  paradise.  The  Millen- 
nium would  not  even  tarry  to  enter  with  the  new 
century.  But  the  fact  is,  I  don't  know  a  place  that  is 
further  from  the  Kingdom  than  Dawson,  the  metrop- 
olis of  Klondike,  chief  city  in  the  province  of  Gold, 
the  capital  of  the  dominion  of  Greed. 

The  scenery  all  about  Dawson  is  very  beautiful. 
Mountains  tower  on  both  sides  of  the  swift-flowing 
Yukon,  and  the  river  winds  among  them  restlessly. 
The  town  straggles  along  the  bank  but  a  few  feet 
above  the  water,  1,650  miles  from  St.  Michael,  while 
two  miles  further  up,  the  Klondike  River  empties  its 
clear  green  into  the  dull  gray  of  the  Yukon.  All  these 
estimates  of  distances  were  furnished  me  by  Captain 
John  C.  Barr,  and  are  the  first  accurate  ones  published. 
Mr.  Ogilvie,  D.  L.  S.,  also  received  and  accepted  the 
estimates  from  him.  Captain  Barr,  who  was  one  of 
the  owners  of  a  large  steamboat  company  on  the  upper 
Missouri  in  early  days,  and  captain  of  one  of  the 
boats,  estimated  816  miles  of  that  river  fifteen  years 
before  it  was  surveyed,  when  it  was  found  to  be  within 
four  miles  of  the  measured  distance. 

When  these  greatest  of  placer  mines  were  discovered, 
miners  rushed  by  scores  from  Circle  City  and  its  mines. 
In  four  weeks,  Dawson 's  population  increased  from  40 
to  2,200,  and  last  year  had  become  3,500.  It  was 
named  after  the  able  head  of  the  geological  survey  of 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  285 

Canada,  whose  father  is  professor  at  McGill  College, 
and  a  well-known  author.  When  fabulous  stories  of 
the  wealth  of  the  new  region  reached  the  old  miners, 
they  laughed  at  the  tenderf eet  and  cracked  many  a 
joke  at  their  expense.  "Yes,"  said  one  of  them,  rue- 
fully, "I  might  have  been  a  multi-millionaire  if  I 
hadn't  been  so  wise  in  my  own  conceit.  I  simply 
would  not  be  coaxed  into  rushing  off  with  the  other 
'  fools. '  The  tenderf  eet  benefited  by  being  credulous. ' ' 
Well,  that's  the  way  of  it  the  world  over. 

"Experience  is  a  dumb,  dead  thing; 
The  victory's  in  believing." 

In  these  days  of  scientific  marvels,  one  wonder 
treading  on  another's  heels,  to  be  incredulous  is  to 
brand  oneself  as  ignorant. 

Those  who  rushed  off  to  Dawson  would  not  cumber 
themselves  with  supplies  for  fear  of  being  too  late,  so 
that  everything  was  scarce  and  high.  Gumboots  cost 
$40  a  pair;  water  was  $i  a  bucket,  because  no  one  had 
time  to  melt  the  ice. 

Early  last  summer,  1897,  Dawson  was  a  town  of  tents 
placed  so  close  that  it  resembled  the  bivouac  of  an 
army.  As  the  ice  thawed  the  peat  reeked,  and  the 
mud,  inky,  black  and  sticky  seemed  bottomless.  A 
narrow  walk  was  laid  along  the  main  "street,"  and  the 
inhabitants  leaped,  elsewhere,  from  one  clod  to  another 
like  gazelles  from  rock  to  rock.  Everybody  dumped 
refuse  anywhere;  there  was  no  drainage.  The  result 
was  inevitable,  epidemic  typhoid,  with  death  as  its  all 
but  certain  end.  There  were  physicians,  but  no 
nurses,  no  hospitals,  and  few  medicines,  while  the 
sufferers  could  not  escape  from  the  causes  of  the 
disease.  Dawson  physicians  charge  "according  to  a 
man's  pile."  One  received  $50  a  visit  from  a  miner 
in  town,  and  $250  a  visit  to  the  mines  up  Klondike. 


286        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

The  summer  sun  dried  out  the  worst  of  the  bog,  but 
the  log  huts,  which  took  the  place  of  tents,  were  built 
directly  upon  it,  so  that  floors  were  apt  to  be  cold  and 
damp.  Yet  one-room  cabins  are  eagerly  bought  at 
$500,  or  rented  for  $50  a  month;  two-room  ones,  $100, 
and  demand  exceeding  the  supply.  Carpenters  were 
paid  $20  a  day.  Later  in  the  summer,  Dawson  was  a 
substantial  log-cabin  town,  with  large  company  stores 
and  warehouses  there.  At  one  of  these  stores,  I 
was  told  that  for  some  time  sales  had  averaged 
$10,000  a  day,  and  that  $1,000,000  worth  of  goods 
could  be  quickly  disposed  of.  No  one  ever  asks  the 
price  of  anything,  the  only  question  is  whether  it  is  to 
be  had.  One  rich  miner  of  generous  proportions  told 
me  that  he  had  but  one  coat  in  twelve  years.  Every 
time  he  had  heard  that  suits  had  been  brought  in  he 
would  hurry  down  to  see  if  he  could  squeeze  into  one, 
but  he  was  on  his  way  to  'Frisco  in  a  blue  flannel  shirt. 
I  saw  a  woman  in  Dawson  wearing  a  red  waist  with 
large  white  porcelain  buttons,  and  a  child  who  was 
constantly  tripping  over  the  ends  of  his  own  shoes, 
which  were  several  sizes  too  large  for  his  little  feet. 
Not  long  before,  the  lamp  wicks  had  given  out.  This 
was  little  short  of  a  calamity,  but  the  ingenuity  of  a 
woman  devised  a  substitute.  She  cut  some  old  felt 
hats  into  strips,  and,  though  the  result  was  not  daz- 
zling, it  was  illuminating.  Dawson  is  overrun  with 
depraved  women,  most  of  whom  came  in  over  the  pass, 
and  so  were  unable  to  bring  much  finery.  These 
readily  seize  upon  anything  at  any  price.  Last  sum- 
mer some  taffeta  silk  was  taken  there,  and  became 
watered  silk  so  that  the  colors  "ran."  It  was  unrolled 
from  the  bolts  and  hung  up  to  dry,  then  sold  as  fast 
as  it  could  be  measured,  at  ten  dollars  a  yard.  The 
clerk  was  bewailing  his  stupidity  in  not  asking  fifteen. 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  287 

The  main  street  of  Dawson  follows  along  the  bank. 
Most  of  the  business  places  are,  of  course,  saloons. 
There  may  be  a  dearth  of  "grub,"  but  whisky's  never 
failed  them  yet.  I'm  not  a  connoisseur  in  liquors,  but 
I  here  assert  that  Dawson  whisky  would  eat  a  hole 
through  a  miser's  safe.  It  is  no  fairy  tale  that 
one  saloonist  cleared  $60,000  in  sixty  days,  and  went 
out  of  the  country  to  spend  the  profits.  At  every 
bar,  one  man  spends  his  entire  time  weighing  gold, 
and  it  is  strange  how  much  he  spills — probably  the 
"dust"  gets  into  his  eyes,  making  him  as  blind  as 
Justice  at  her  scales.  And  we  all  know  that  the  worst 
form  of  blindness  is  caused  by  gold,  whose  shine  is 
worse  than  the  dazzle  of  snow,  bringing  madness  to  the 
victim.  Here  is  the  largest  of  the  saloons,  bare,  sordid, 
with  no  mirrors  to  reflect  the  rough  figures  of  the 
miners,  or  tawdry  attire  of  the  dance  women,  no  pol- 
ished bar  of  carved  woods,  no  array  of  prismatic  decan- 
ters, no  ceiling  of  white  and  gold — the  gold's  on  the 
floor,  and  white  there  is  none.  The  sawdust  which 
covers  the  floor  is  burned  for  the  gold  which  sifts  into 
it.  It  is  vice  unadorned,  unveiled,  repellant.  Yet,  in 
this  place,  you  will  find  men  from  homes  clean  and 
lovely,  in  both  senses.  The  few  kerosene  lamps,  dim 
and  smoking,  blink  about  the  room,  and  wheezy  music 
invites  to  the  dance.  Here  comes  a  man  you  might 
once  have  known,  but  with  his  untrimmed  beard  and 
rough  clothes,  hat  on  head  and  pipe  in  mouth,  you 
would  not  recognize  him  as  he  grasps  the  vilest  of  the 
vile  women  present  for  the  mazy  dance.  Indeed,  it  is 
a  maze  to  them,  for  the  liquor  which  has  brightened 
their  eyes  has  had  no  such  effect  upon  their  wits,  but 
has  tangled  their  feet,  and  they  reel  dizzily  about. 
Every  waltz  costs  a  dollar,  and  is  short,  so  that  as 
many  as  possible  may  be  crowded  in  before  the 


288        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

dancers  shall  be  too  drunk  to  essay  further  participa- 
tion. After  each  number,  the  miners  conduct  their 
4 'ladies, ' ' — O  long-suffering  word ! — to  the  bar  for  more 
of  the  fiery  liquor,  at  fifty  cents  a  glass.  As  the  night 
wears  on,  the  whisky  openly  mocks  its  victims,  amus- 
ing itself  with  their  varying  antics.  One  jolly  giant 
bursts  into  ribald  song,  and  others  join  him;  a  dis- 
solute with  hair  bleached  to  a  canary  color  spies  a 
quiet  fellow  who  is  leaning  against  a  wall  watching  the 
scene,  and  obtaining  a  handful  of  salt  sprinkles  him 
liberally  with  it,  asserting,  with  hiccoughs,  that  "he  is 
too  fresh. ' '  A  derisive  howl  greets  her  drunken  wit. 
A  slip  of  a  boy  becomes  quarrelsome,  and  insists  upon 
''fighting  the  crowd."  He  is  with  difficulty  quieted. 
It  is  singular  that  there  is  so  little  fighting  and  blood- 
shed in  Dawson.  The  presence  of  the  Canadian 
mounted  police  is  salutary,  yet  even  at  Circle  City, 
where  there  were  none,  and  Kipling  might  well  say, 

"There  runs  no  law  of  God  nor  man  to  the  north  of  53," 
there  was  very  little  lawlessness.  When  a  man  is  liable 
to  be  deported  in  the  dead  of  a  winter-long  night, 
in  a  country  where,  literally,  "a  crow  flying  would 
have  to  carry  his  provisions  with  him,"  he  is  more  or 
less  cautious,  even  in  his  cups.  Now  everything  is 
changed,  but  before  this  rush  to  Alaska  property  was 
entirely  safe.  No  one  locked  up  anything. 

Mingling  with  the  whites  are  many  squaws,  who  are 
regularly  employed  at  these  infamous  dance  houses, 
and  who  support  more  infamous  white  men  who  do 
nothing  but  laze  about.  Some  of  these  "squaw  men" 
are  said  to  be  married  to  decent  women  in  the  States. 
When  I  was  in  Alaska,  there  were  but  two  negroes. 
When  they  first  entered  the  country,  the  Indians, 
observing  that  he  had  not  Indian  features,  called  him 
the  equivalent  of  "  White-man- who-never-washes-his- 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  289 

face."  Referring  again  to  squaws,  it  is  deplored  by 
the  miners  that  there  are  not  enough  to  go  'round. 
They  are  more  docile  than  the  depraved  white  women, 
and  will  work  for  their  lords  and  masters.  The  titles 
Mr.  and  Miss  are  largely  superfluous  in  Alaska.  A 
man  does  not  even  always  bear  the  name  he  "wore 
down  below. ' '  Many  a  man  is  called  something  the 
miners  think  appropriate,  and  he  can  do  nothing  but 
submit.  "Side-wheeler,"  for  instance,  has  a  long  and 
a  short  leg.  Gumboot  Annie,  Ben  Butler,  Mukluk 
Lizzie,  Cannibal  Ike,  Billy  the  Horse,  Peter  Pig,  Out- 
law Bill,  Hootchino  Albert,  Happy  Jack,  Calamity 
Bill,  etc.,  have,  so  far  as  Dawson  is  concerned,  no 
other  names. 

Gambling  goes  on  from  early  morn  to  dewy  eve,  and 
from  night  till  morning.  Signs  upon  the  saloon  walls 
announce  faro  $25  and  $50,  and  caution  you  not  to 
overplay  your  sack.  A  miner  will  play  until  tired,  and 
then  call  out  to  an  acquaintance,  "I  say,  Bill,  come 
over  and  play  my  checks  awhile,  won't  you?"  Then 
he  will  go  out  for  an  hour  and  resume  the  game.  One 
fellow  came  in  drunk  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  speedily  lost  what  he  had.  He  left  the  saloon,  and 
returned  with  $6,000  in  dust,  which  he  announced  he 
would  play  if  he  lost  every  ounce  of  it,  and  he  would 
sit  there  until  he  won  it  back  if  he  rotted  in  his  seat, 
as  he  recklessly  put  it.  He  did  lose  it  all,  but  at  past 
seven  at  night  rose  exhausted  from  the  table  with  it, 
and  $115  to  his  credit. 

"Gold,  gold,  gold,  gold! 

Good  or  bad  a  thousand-fold ! 
How  widely  its  agencies  vary, — 

To  save,  to  ruin,  to  curse,  to  bless, 

As  even  the  minted  coins  express, 

Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  good  Queen  Bess 
And  now  of  a  "Bloody  Mary." 


29o        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

Next  to  saloons,  restaurants  pay  best  in  Dawson.  I 
talked  with  a  woman  who  cleared  $4,000  in  six  weeks 
in  hers.  This  money  she  had  invested  in  mines,  which 
her  husband  and  son  worked.  They  went  in  penniless, 
and  were  coming  out  rich.  A  young  fellow  cleared 
$450  in  three  days  in  another  restaurant.  Cafe's  in 
Dawson  demand  no  experience,  only  hard  work.  An 
ordinary  meal  costs  $1.50.  This  means  coffee,  bread 
and  beans  or  bacon,  no  etceteras.  If  you  want  extras 
like  eggs,  if  they  are  to  be  had  at  all,  you  may  pay  $18 
for  breakfast  for  one,  as  a  miner  I  know  did.  He  only 
remarked  it  was  worth  $25.  The  miner  furnishes  his 
own  sauce,  hunger  sauce,  and  does  no  grumbling, 
either  at  viands  or  service.  "  It  is  a  great  country,  this 
Yukon,  to  take  the  kick  out  of  a  man,"  said  a  miner  to 
me;  "a  fellow  gets  to  be  thankful  to  be  allowed  simply 
to  live."  When  milk  gives  out,  or  sugar,  or  both,  the 
coffee  is  served  plain.  In  Alaska,  if  you  ask  for  bread 
you  are  apt  to  receive  a  stone,  though  I  must  say  that 
aboard  the  Healy  the  cook  made  the  most  delicious 
bread,  rolls  and  biscuits  that  I  ever  tasted,  fit  for  Del- 
monico's.  Water  is  not  served  from  "our  own  artesian 
well, ' '  but  from  the  Yukon.  It  is  warm  and  muddy, 
but  handy.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  town  is  a  spring 
of  pure  water,  icy  cold,  but  it  is  too  far  to  be  carried 
by  these  hurried  gold  seekers.  A  man  in  Dawson 
wanted  to  pipe  it  down,  but  as  the  near-sighted  gov- 
ernment would  afford  him  no  protection,  the  man 
abandoned  the  project.  Pure  water  would  prevent 
much  of  the  sickness  in  Dawson.  In  summer,  ice  costs 
a  dollar  a  pound  there,  although  the  bluff  about  half  a 
mile  down  the  river  is  a  glacier.  But  no  one  has  time 
to  bring  ice  from  Nature's  refrigerator.  For  the  same 
reason,  although  the  Yukon  is  alive  with  salmon,  it  is 
cheap  when  twenty  cents  a  pound.  A  miner  paid  $50 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  291 

for  the  first  one  caught  last  year.  Fresh  meat  is 
announced  by  signs  outside  the  restaurants,  and 
induces  a  rush,  though  moose  are  plentiful  not  far 
away  in  the  mountains.  I  stopped  at  the  butcher's.  The 
counter  was  across  the  open  end  of  a  tent,  like  a  stall 
in  a  market.  Upon  it  were  the  meat  and  scales,  and 
the  gold  scales,  some  cuts  of  moose  and  a  bundle  of 
roughly  whittled  wooden  skewers  about  six  inches 
long.  A  man  had  bought  some  moose  steak,  and  was 
walking  off  with  it  thrust  on  a  skewer,  for  there  is  no 
wrapping  paper.  I  asked  him  how  much  it  was.  He 
looked  rather  surprised,  and  said  he  didn't  know. 
The  butcher  heard,  though,  and  replied,  "only  seven- 
ty-five cents  a  pound. ' '  When  I  commented  upon  the 
method  of  delivery,  the  miner  said  it  was  all  right  for 
meat,  but  when  he  had  attempted  to  carry  home  a 
dozen  doughnuts,  for  which  he  paid  a  dollar,  strung  on 
a  willow  cutting,  he  had  arrived  at  his  cabin  with  only 
half.  "You  see,"  he  said,  good-naturedly,  "they 
smelled  good,  and  everybody  that  passed  helped  him- 
self. I  ought  to  have  bought  more." 

The  laundries  do  a  thriving  business.  When  I  was 
there,  they  charged  four  bits,  fifty  cents,  for  any 
article,  no  matter  how  small,  and  considerable  gold  is 
realized  from  the  water,  too.  The  principal  laundry 
was  half  of  a  large  scow,  covered  with  a  tent.  Quite  a 
number  of  boats  built  to  float  down  from  the  lakes  are 
thus  utilized  at  Dawson.  One  family  lives  in  the  stern 
end,  while  the  bow  half  serves  as  a  shed.  Another 
queer  house  was  of  tenting  nailed  to  wooden  uprights. 
In  another  tent,  a  former  Seattle  dentist  is  doing  busi- 
ness. The  climate  is  very  hard  upon  teeth.  He 
charges  from  $15  to  $30  for  gold  fillings,  and,  of  course, 
has  to  import  all  the  leaf.  Bringing  gold  to  Dawson 
is  like  coal  to  Newcastle,  surely.  The  dentist  charges 


292        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:   ALASKA 

$50  for  a  set  of  teeth  mounted  with  rubber.  He  can 
not,  of  course,  administer  gas,  but  cocaine  has  robbed  his 
chair,  which  occupies  most  of  the  little  shack,  by  the 
way,  of  its  horrors.  There  was  a  second  dentist,  but 
he  exhausted  his  materials,  and  had  to  go  out  for  more. 
That  was  the  case,  too,  with  the  only  photographer 
Dawson  boasted.  One  day,  when  I  was  walking  along 
with  my  kodak,  at  least  a  dozen  people  asked  me  to 
take  photographs,  or,  if  I  had  any  to  sell.  One  of 
these  was  the  saloonist,  who  had  the  largest  nugget 
found  in  Alaska  up  to  that  time.  It  weighed  $583.25, 
and  was  wedge-shaped,  about  the  size  of  my  hand. 
Although  gold  is  so  common  in  Alaska,  no  really  large 
nuggets  have  been  found.  The  largest  one  ever  dis- 
covered was  picked  up  in  Australia,  in  1852.  It 
weighed  223  pounds.  In  California,  three  enormous 
nuggets,  weighing  118,  149,  and  151  pounds,  have  been 
found  at  different  times.  Speaking  of  nuggets  reminds 
me  of  the  jeweler's  at  Dawson.  I  leaped  from  log  to 
log  in  the  morass  back  of  the  main  street  to  reach  his 
store.  His  name,  I  remember,  was  appropriate, 
Pond.  He  must  be  growing  rich  fast,  judging  by  the 
tremendous  prices  he  asks  for  his  work,  which  is 
mostly  chains,  rings,  etc.,  made  of  nuggets.  He 
showed  me  a  ring  which  much  resembled  a  small  nap- 
kin ring,  but  which  was  to  adorn  the  enormous  hand  of 
a  Klondike  miner.  He  had  a  really  beautiful  loose 
bracelet  of  nuggets,  one  of  which  had  an  emerald  set 
in  a  natural  hole.  In  Dawson,  I  saw  two  very  curious 
nuggets.  One  was  found  with  a  small  garnet  set  very 
neatly  in  its  edge  by  Dame  Nature  herself.  The  other 
nugget  was  about  an  inch  and  a  half  long,  and  was 
almost  a  perfect  cross  with  a  figure  which  suggested 
that  upon  the  crucifix. 
The  only  furniture  factory  in  Dawson  was  a  booth. 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  293 

it  contained  one  fir  bedstead  half  completed,  and  a 
faro  table,  which  was  being  stained  to  mahogany. 

There  are  plenty  of  dressmakers  already  in  Dawson. 
The  usual  price  for  making  a  gown  is  $30,  which  is 
very  reasonable  indeed,  considering  the  cost  of  every- 
thing else.  In  fact,  Dawson  lacked  only  a  church  and 
a  school  when  I  was  there.  Both,  I  hear,  are  now 
supplied,  also  a  hospital.  Real  estate  is  very  high. 
The  townsite  is  now  held  by  Joseph  Ladue,  but  there 
seems  to  be  little  doubt  that  it  should  belong  to  Fritz 
Kloke,  who,  before  the  Klondike  excitement,  had 
a  fishery  and  garden  where  Dawson  now  stands.  Real 
estate  is  high.  A  lot  50x100  feet  was  leased  for 
ninety-nine  years  for  $2,000.  Soon  after  half  of  it  was 
re-leased  for  $2,500,  and  two  months  later  $7,500  was 
refused  for  the  other  half.  A  saloonist  bought  a  log 
building  on  a  lot  for  $12,000,  which  he  paid  for  with 
three  weeks'  profits. 

There  is  absolutely  no  decent  amusement  to  be  had 
in  Dawson,  nothing  but  drinking,  gambling  and  ca- 
rousing. I  don't  know  where  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  could  be 
organized  with  greater  results.  If  a  warm  room  could 
be  had  where  men  might  find  congenial  and  decent 
company,  baths,  books,  papers,  etc.,  it  would  be  a 
genuine  godsend. 

Two  miles  above  Dawson  the  Klondike  River 
empties  into  the  Yukon.  Fourteen  miles  up  the  Klon- 
dike are  the  greatest  placer  mines  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  bordering  creeks  that  empty  into  it,  Bonanza,  El 
Dorado,  Hunker,  Skookum,  and  others.  The  trail 
from  Dawson  is  simply  dreadful,  and  the  strongest 
men  can  walk  but  a  short  distance  upon  it — or  rather, 
through  it.  Every  two  or  three  miles  there  are  road 
houses  which  afford  rest  and  food.  God  seems  to  have 
placed  the  mark  of  His  disapproval  upon  the  world's 


294        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

mad  struggle  for  gold.  It  is  always  hidden  in  such 
difficult  places,  and  men  pay  such  awful  prices  for  it. 
'Tis  like  paying  five  dollars  and  a  half  for  a  five  dollar 
gold  piece.  Deaths  from  exhaustion  are  quite  frequent 
upon  these  trails.  The  day  before  I  reached  Dawson, 
an  Icelander,  his  heavy  pack  upon  his  shoulders,  sank 
upon  the  cruel  path  to  rise  no  more.  There  he  lay, 
his  blue  eyes  staring  undazzled  at  the  sun,  for  to  him 
the  brightness  of  that  other  dawn  had  made  our  light 
but  darkness.  His  stiffened  shoulders  heeded  not  that 
the  pack  lay  upon  them,  for  the  burden  of  life  had 
fallen  from  them  for  aye.  Like  a  horse  in  harness,  he 
fell.  Far  from  the  feeble  old  mother  for  whom  he  had 
so  longed,  the  miner  had  at  last  made  his  homestake. 
1 '  He  was  always  homesick, ' '  said  one  of  the  rough  men 
who  found  him,  and  he  said  it  tenderly.  That  dear 
old  saying  came  into  my  mind,  "Blessed  are  the  home- 
sick, for  they  shall  come  at  last  to  their  Father's 
house. ' ' 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1896  that  McCormick  over- 
heard his  squaw  talking  to  her  brother  about  gold  on  a 
little  creek  emptying  into  Klondike  River.  McCormick 
began  prospecting  on  El  Dorado,  and  September  15 
came  in  with  news  of  almost  incredible  richness. 
There  was  a  general  rush  to  the  region,  and  by 
December  it  was  found  to  be  wonderful.  No.  31  El 
Dorado  sold  for  $100  in  September  of  '96,  in  April  for 
$31,000,  and  it  is  not  for  sale  now  if  you  would  proffer 
that  added  to  $100,000.  It  is  said  that  from  "Discov- 
ery" to  No.  37  on  El  Dorado  every  mine  is  worth  at 
least  $100,000.  On  No.  9  there  is  a  streak  from  three 
to  four  inches  thick  just  above  bedrock  of  almost  pure 
gold.  It  appears  to  have,  at  one  time,  flowed  through 
there  a  veritable  rivulet  of  molten  gold.  Any  time 
the  owner  wishes  a  thousand  dollars,  he  has  only  to 


THE  END  OF  THE  RAINBOW  295 

sluice  a  very  little  earth  for  it.  On  another  claim, 
two  men  in  six  hours  shoveled  one  hundred  pounds  of 
gold !  This  gold  is  bought  at  Dawson  for  $i  7  an  ounce, 
though  when  it  is  to  be  sent  out  in  drafts  but  $15.60  is 
allowed,  because  the  average  of  Klondike  gold  assays 
that.  From  two  holes  in  another  claim  on  this  creek, 
four  men  washed  out  $61,000  in  one  month,  and  $1,500 
was  washed  from  two  pans.  These  are  not  yarns,  but 
sober  facts.  Did  I  not  say  Klondike  is  the  grown-up 
Land  of  Nod?  These  miners  are  those  who  have 
"dreamed  true."  Take  Alex  McDonald  as  an 
example.  He  is  a  tall,  dark,  brawny  Nova  Scotian, 
who  went  into  Alaska  about  three  years  ago  without  a 
dollar.  He  is  now  a  multi-millionaire.  He  is  the 
owner  of  the  fabulous  No.  30  El  Dorado,  and  fifteen  or 
sixteen  other  mines  in  Klondike.  No  one  else  has  so 
many,  and  he  is  constantly  buying  more.  At  the 
present  rate,  he  will  be  the  richest  man  in  the  world 
in  a  few  years,  and  he  has  wronged  no  one  in  gaining 
his  vast  fortune.  McDonald  is  a  quiet,  temperate, 
manly  man,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  see  his  success 
when  you  remember  what  abominable  taste  Dame 
Fortune  usually  shows  in  her  favorites.  Now,  there's 
"Swift-Water  Bill."  Spending  money  like  water 
doesn't  express  it,  the  current  must  be  swift.  He's 
the  man  who  bought  up  every  egg  of  the  first  invoice 
last  spring  for  $900  to  spite  a  woman  and  prevent  her 
having  some  for  breakfast. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  on  Bonanza  Creek  gold  has 
been  found  two  and  a  half  feet  below  bedrock. 
Bonanza  gold  will  not  break,  but  El  Dorado  gold  will. 
From  mine  No.  26,  where  they  took  out  ninety  pounds 
of  gold  in  one  day,  I  have  a  key-shaped  nugget  of 
"wire  gold,"  which  I  have  bent  double  and  straight- 
ened. When  I  came  home  from  Alaska,  I  was  prepared 


296        THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA 

to  say  that  the  richness  of  the  placers  could  hardly  be 
overestimated,  but  when  I  read  in  a  paper  that  some 
man  had  seen  five  five-gallon  cans  full  of  gold  dust,  the 
gleanings  of  two  men  in  one  winter,  I  abandoned  the 
idea.  That  amount  of  gold  would  be  worth  $3,125,- 
ooo,  and  would  weigh  six  tons!  And  there  isn't  a 
derrick  nor  a  jackscrew  in  all  Alaska! 

Yet  No.  13  sold  for  $45,000.  From  April  15  to 
June  i,  four  men  took  out  $42,628  from  a  strip  25x70 
feet.  The  owner  had  sunk  two  holes,  and  found 
nothing  to  speak  of.  On  El  Dorado,  the  pay  streak  is 
70  feet  wide! 

No  wonder  that  men  who  toil  early  and  late  for  the 
few  dollars  which  so  scantily  keep  their  families, 
hearing  these  true  tales,  are  almost  willing  to  pawn 
their  souls  for  money  enough  to  try  their  luck. 

"Judges  and  senates  have  been  bought  for  gold" — they  sneer, 
But  they  forget  "Esteem  and  love  were  never  to  be  sold." 

I  am  just  old-fashioned  enough  to  believe  that, 
though  money  is  by  no  means  to  be  despised,  the 
loveless  millionaire  is  poorer  than  love's  millionaire, 
who,  with  wife  and  child  beside  him,  warm  in  body 
and  heart,  sits  by  his  own  fireside,  watching  the  flames 
dance  and  change  color.  Their  hues  are  not  so  varied 
as  those  of  the  mysterious  arch,  but  at  least  they 
give  light  and  heat,  while  he  might  never,  never  find 
those  fabled  pots  of  gold  at 

THE  RAINBOW'S  END:    ALASKA. 


PRESS  OF 

STROMBERG,  ALLEN  &   CO. 
CHICAGO 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


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